


A House or a Home

by cicir



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic, F/F, F/M, Minor Character Death, Minor character suicide: Skippable, MythiTale, Post pacifist, Reader and Grillby find comfort in each other, Reader has a past, Reader is a Silky, Reader slowly overcomes anxiety, Slow Burn, Then less Shy reader, Veteran!Gerson, Veteran!Grillby, shy reader, skippable graphic depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 12:13:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 89,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5743447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicir/pseuds/cicir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are 3 sentients in the world. Humans. Monsters. Mythics, or mythological creatures.<br/>Humans feared Monsters because they didn't abide by rules. They could not be restrained, commercialized, used as pets, slaves, cash machines.<br/>The war happened. Weapons happened. Humans learned the key difference between Monsters and Mythics.<br/>Mythics were easier to control.<br/>(summary updated 2/19/2016. Don't ask why)<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Battle of Fear and Lonliness

**Author's Note:**

> A Silky is a house "spirit" who cleans the house and makes it feel more homey and the likes. I've added a few of my own rules to it, but it's the same idea. 
> 
> If you like this, please tell me so I know if I should continue or not. If you don't like it, please tell me why so I can either fix it, or know what I did wrong :)
> 
> I created a Tumblr for this, if anyone wants! It's url is http://grillky.tumblr.com/
> 
> Pretty easy to remember!!!

Knees folded under you, hands resting on your thighs, you took a small breath, closing your eyes. Old, charred wood assailed your nostrils. You exhaled, breath huffing out quickly, impatiently, as if it felt just as trapped in your lungs as you did in this dilapidated structure. 

You took a breath in again, and your nostrils complained, wishing for a scent other than that rotting wood. You empathized, but knew that nothing would change. You, your nose, your lungs; You were all stuck here. Forever and alone, sitting atop the charred stain of what was once your freedom, in an impeccably clean abandoned shop. You reminisced of a time when you didn’t feel  _ stuck _ here in this empty shack. A time where the charred stain was not a stain, but a soft, walking smile. 

And so you stayed here, a wayward silky tied to plot of land by a charred mark on the ground, and memories. 

_ Slamming doors. Fire. So much fire. Fear. Calling out, running. Tears.  _

You shook your head. Living in the past was not a way to live at all. Although, it was mostly what you did nowadays. It had been nearly a century of nothing. A century of loneliness, living in an empty, run-down structure in an abandoned marketplace. Did anyone even know of your presence? You had heard a man walk by maybe 3 years ago. He had stopped by your home, and even walked in. You hid in fear, and he left quickly, mumbling something about prices. That was your only visitor. 

This was your existence now. 

You were lonely. 

So lonely. 

______________

The barrier had broken. 

You knew from the past that there were creatures other than you traversing the land. Monsters, they were called, and they lived as the Humans did. They were not tied by the rules that you were. 

You didn’t know why. 

The humans did not either. 

And as you and your brethren were spared by the ties that bind, the monsters were not. 

War. And then a magical barrier that pulled at all beings that relied on magical sustenance. It tickled the back of your mind. Stronger for you since you lived so near the barrier, at the base of a mountain that lead to the deep underground. But it was still just a presence that was just and simply always there.

And now. It just and simply... wasn’t. 

You wondered If that would change your lonely life, but quickly dismissed it. If humans deemed your living space as useless, why would monsters think differently? Therefore, you thought not of the missing tickle in your mind, and continued on with your miserable, dazed existence. 

That is, until you heard voices again....

_______________

“It’s been abandoned for as long as anyone can remember, and all it is to me is a hinderance, paying taxes and what-not.” 

Voices...

“... sssooo... I’m not going to do anything to it before i sell. If you want to demolish the place, or fix it up or whatever, that’s all on you, understood?” 

Voices.... in your empty town...

“...okay. So Yeah. Umm. I was thinking I’d sell it for around 100 thousand, if that sounds reasonable? It’s a prime location, on the corner of the lot... and if your... uhh...  _ kind _ are going to make this town your home, then it’ll be a great location for a bar. Wha’ddya say?” 

You looked up with blank eyes at the door of your little run-down home. You could see a silhouette and a glow. You blinked, mind still hazy from your previous half-asleep state. 

“Okay! Great! I’ll.. Uhh... I’ll get the papers for you to sign and stuff... uhh... Yeah... Thank you! I’ve been trying to sell this place forever! You’re a lifesaver!” 

The excitement of the one voice you’ve been hearing jostled you slightly from your daze, and you listened more intently, curiosity piqued. 

“Feel free to go in! Look around! It’s not much, but maybe you’ll get new ideas? I dunno. I don’t really care, it’s yours now!” 

Suddenly, you were on your feet. Someone was coming in? Someone was-! Silently, you sprinted across the large open space that was your “home,” and bolted into the back room to the far left before barely peeking your head out to watch. The door jostled slightly, and then opened. Light flooded into your home, and when the door shut behind your visitor, it stayed. Light footsteps pattered across the floor, and the figure stopped in the middle of the open space. You dared to peek a little more out to see-

_ Fire..... _

_ Fire..! _

You froze, mind reeling at the image of fire...Fire! Standing in the middle of your shop. The last time there was fire in your home... 

You couldn’t move. You were petrified. You felt the tears as they threatened to fall, but you could do nothing about them. Here was the thing that took your freedom, your peace, your joy, your...your... 

_ “Don’t worry about me, dear.”  _

Your...

_ “I’m only human.... You knew this would happen sooner or later.”  _

Your... 

_ “Live on, my little Silky. Be happy for me. Can you promise that?” A hand on your cheek, smooth, hot, but firm, even as it lost it’s strength...“Promise me, _____?”  _

You couldn’t move. The Walking Fire bent down, examining the charred remains of your previous life, and your silence became vocalized for only a brief moment. One little squeak, and the head whipped toward your location. 

He had not seen you yet, but he had stood. He was walking toward you. Panicking, you retreated more into the back room, immediately heading for the cupboard in the back. You were small, yes, but not tiny. The large cupboard hid you with minor discomfort, and the door swung silently shut just as the Fire Man entered the room. You heard his footsteps as he walked around the room, stopping periodically. You could feel your heart in your chest, and your magic screaming in your ears to run. To hide. And to protect your home. You ignored them, holding your breath as the footsteps came closer to your hiding place, stopping in front of the cupboard. 

Complete silence followed, only interrupted by the almost silent crackling and popping that absolutely terrified you. Fire had taken your life so many years ago, and now it was going to take it again, and all you could do is hide in a cupboard and cower. The realization only made holding your breath even harder, tears slowly staining your face. 

The footsteps started again, walking away now, and it took all of your might to not let out a loud sigh of relief. You heard them as they retreated. You heard the door open. The door close. 

...

It took you a couple of hours to feel safe enough to leave the safety of the empty cupboard. Even then, you still jumped at even the muffled cries of the crows outside. 

_________________

“Do you mean a squatter? No! That town has been abandoned for so long, it’s practically uninhabitable.” The landlady laughed, waving her hand dismissively at Grillby. The bartender and the Landlady sat across from each other in the Landlady’s house, paperwork strewn out in front of them. Grillby had been halfway through all the needed signatures when the occurrence in the building had come to his mind again, and he had to ask the woman. 

He had sworn that he heard something, and had followed the sound to the back room. Almost immediately, he had seen it. In the cupboard on the right wall, a soul rested. A soul like he had never seen before. It wasn’t a monster soul- but he questioned if it was human, as well. It was a soft, translucent grey-blue, and it shimmered and wisped as if it weren’t quite... solid, persay. 

In that moment, he had wanted to open the cupboard, sate his curiosity. But he had seen the shivering of the soul, the almost unbridled fear that came from the soul in waves. He was sure if he opened that cupboard, whatever was in there would probably die of fright. So, he left it alone. Walked away, walked out. Maybe it was a ghost, meandering its way through, and terrified of a monster it had never seen before.... 

Either way, after the passing of the landlady, he had dismissed it. The owner of the peculiar soul was probably long gone by now, so he did not make himself worry about it. 

Signing the last of the papers, and writing a hefty check (which made the landlady’s eyes boggle at the amount of zeros on one legal note), he shook her hand and was off. He’d sleep in the underground tonight, and then travel with many a monster to their new town, and begin working on his new bar. 

He smiled at that thought, and hummed happily during his return. 

His mind, though, couldn’t quite ignore the little reminders of the wispy soul that resided in his new bar. 

He came to the conclusion that if you were still there tomorrow, he would risk a greeting. 

_________________

You were sweeping the corners when you heard the footsteps again. Funny, how fear can make you remember how even footsteps sound. You were quick to hide again, this time not in the cupboard, but rather on the second floor, where the shop face changed into more of a home. Yes, it was more empty than a regular home (on account of abandonment), but due to your cleaning, there were still some items in almost perfect condition. A couch in the front room. A kitchen table in the kitchen to the left, between an open doorway, and a bed in the one room branching from the wall to the right of the kitchen. The rest of the upstairs flat was empty, but perfectly clean. But you guessed it came with the territory of being a Silky. 

Keeping a home clean, warm, and homely was your life. But... without people to live in the home you created... a clean home was still not a home without the smiles of a family. Or at least another person. 

_ “Smile one last time for me, my silky... please...” _

You shook the thoughts from your head, (it wasn’t hard with the cold terror slowly rolling up your spine) quickly finding a hiding place under the bed as you heard the slight creaking of the stairs. You quivered in fear as you heard the footsteps approaching for the second time. A door closed, causing a small jolt in your arms. If this continued, you felt as if your very essence would just dissipate in shock. 

Why couldn’t he just leave? Why was he in your home? Why was  _ fire _ in your home? You wanted it to go away. Please just go awa-

You jumped and screeched when the darkness of your hiding spot fled at the sight of the orange glow. a face of  _ fire _ had appeared near yours, the fire man bending down to look under the bed. 

Your screeching continued as you scrambled out from under the bed, arms and legs flailing as you crawled. Freeing yourself from under the bed, you quickly took off toward the exit. The door was closed, but that did not stop you. 

You closed your eyes as you fazed through the door, not stopping or faltering for even a moment as you passed through the strong oak. You continued, long strides taking you to the stairs when you felt a wisp of heat pass by your ear. Your eyes grew wide when you saw that wisp of heat keep going, one orange flame curling past you, and then materializing into the fire man at the top of the stairs. Letting out another screech, you scrambled to change your direction, now heading toward the kitchen. 

You had to-You had to escape! You could just make it to the kitchen, get around him, and flee back down the stairs. You just needed to get to the stairs! You passed through the doorway, and expected him to follow-as fire did, but when you turned around to attempt to pass through the doorway again, you stopped in your tracks. 

The figure of flame had not followed you into the kitchen as you had hoped. Rather, he stood in the doorway, blocking your exit, staring you down. You stared at him for a moment before sprinting to the right, attempting to reach the wall. You had enough magic to do another faze. Just one more- But he took a step to the side, and blocked your path. You juked to the left, and he did as well. Your breathing became panicked as you realized you were stuck, and you retreated to the corner, whimpering. 

“Please,” you begged now, “Fire, fire, fire please. Please no... My home... Please...” You could only babble incoherent words in your panic, and you dropped to the ground, tears streaming down your helpless face. You barely acknowledged him as he stepped forward to meet you in the corner. You only flinched and cried more as he knelt in front of you, and just stood there. 

Stood there... mocking you. Mocking your fear....

He held out a hand, and you only flinched more, babbling more fearful mantra. 

“I won’t hurt you.” He spoke, and you froze up, muscles tensing. The fire just. Fire just spoke! You looked up, and stared into the glasses of the Fire Man. You could not read his expression, but his voice was calming and careful. He stayed where he was, not moving closer, but not relenting either. 

“I am not the fire you seem to know,” He assured in a calming tone, but his voice crackled like the fire so many years ago. You wanted to listen to him more, but at the same time his voice rang terror in your ears and sent chills down your spine. You retreated as far as possible into your corner, and he seemed to notice, pulling back slightly. He reached into his pocket now, slowly as you watched him in guarded trepidation. He pulled out a piece of paper, and held it, raising it slightly closer to you. 

It did not burn. 

Your eyes grew slightly wider as you stared at the perfectly not-burning paper. In a brief moment of bravery, you snatched the paper from his hand and retreated once more, looking the paper up and down. No magic laced it, no wax covered it. it was just paper. 

_ The paper lit first and fast, causing you to scream as the fire spread across his front faster than you could reach him... _

You shivered, and released the paper as if it had burnt you, but otherwise looked at the man in front of you. He held out his hand in invitation, and you knew what he was offering. 

Tentatively, you reached out your hand and touched his. It was warm, but not hot. It was somehow soft, and it filled you with emotion. 

You had not touched another living being for over a century. As your hand curled into his, your loneliness hit a peak that you had never allowed it to, and it broke your will, flooding you with agony and grief. Tears overflowed from your eyes, pouring down your face and pooling at your cheeks. Your mouth dropped open as you silently sobbed, neck tense and eyes wide. You could barely breath as your mind attempted to juggle intense fear with intense loneliness, all brought on by the one man standing in front of you, your hand in his.  

_ Smooth, hot, but firm... _

His grip tightened on your hand, and you looked up. The hand not holding yours was outstretched, wide and welcoming, and you knew what he was offering. Decades of loneliness overpowered the fear of the fire that turned your home into a house, and you barrelled forward, accepting his embrace as your silent sobs turned into loud wails. He wrapped his arms around you, surrounding you in a warmth you haven’t felt in over a century, and stroking your hair in a way not even  _ he _ could. 

In that moment, you concluded that he wasn’t as scary as you first thought, and maybe, just maybe, you weren’t vehemently against him standing in your house. 

______________

“So she’s the reason the inside of your shop is pristine while everything else out here is rusting, moldy, and dusty as hell?” Sans questioned as he walked behind Grillby, both carrying rather large boxes from a pick-up truck to what would soon be the new Grillbz. Grillby pushed the door of his new shop open with his backside, letting his skeleton friend walk in first, him following shortly. Grillby nodded, and Sans smiled. 

“And she refuses to leave the shop.” Grillby nodded again. 

“And she doesn’t like to be seen...” Nod again. 

“Huh. That’s  _ soap _ interesting.” Grillby glared, placing his box on the ground, and motioned for Sans to do the same. With both boxes placed, they retreated outside to get more. 

The furniture had already been taken of, and Grillby was pretty proud at how the shop looked almost completely identical to how it was underground, albeit cleaner. During the move, Sans had asked to see the mysterious woman many times, but Grillby’s answer had always been a curt shake of his head. 

You had been quite shaken for a long period of time, and it was only after you had calmed down and let him go that he looked you up and down. You wore a simple outfit: A faded grey dress that appeared to be over a century old. You sat in front of him for a while longer, wiping your eyes and apologizing quietly. Your eyes matched your dress; a stormy grey looked up at him with a toiling expression. He stood and walked to the table in the kitchen. Noticing the lack of chairs, he went to sit on the table itself. At the almost outraged cry and cold glare you gave him, he took that to be a “don’t you fucking dare,” and he stood instead. You got to your own feet, and you both just stood there awkwardly. After a short period of time, Grillby excused himself. You had looked at him, puzzled, but did not stop him. 

When he returned with boxes, your puzzled face only expanded, but as the furniture began to move to their rightful places, you began moving with more purpose; almost as if you were on autopilot, you fluffed the cushions and righted the chairs. You dusted the counters he and Sans had placed in the bar area, and polished the scratched table tops and booths he had added until they shined like brand new. 

For a moment, he even swore he heard you hum lightly. But he couldn’t listen more than a moment before you heard the footsteps of Sans, and retreated before the skeleton could enter the shop. When Sans came in and saw the disappointed look on Grillby’s face, he had only blinked a few times and muttered a confused, “what?” before Grillby waved it off. 

With Grillby’s instruction and Sans’ magic, the bar’s furniture was completely set up by the end of the day, minus the wall-to-wall alchohol collection and the kitchen’s food. When Sans offered to help with the apartment on the second floor as well, Grillby politely turned him down, his mind turning to your face. He’d rather you be comfortable, as it seemed you were not leaving. 

Plus, he was rather tired from a day of moving items. Maybe he’d just bring in some essentials and call it a day. He had a mysterious woman to talk to anyway... 

_______________

At the same time that you were apprehensious about a new inhabitant in your perfectly maintained home, you could not contain your glee at having a furnished place to traverse again. The sound of footsteps through your house almost made you giggle; you were not alone anymore! Even if you did not know these people, they were  _ here! _ You could listen to them talk, move around, do things. You were excited! Nervous and shy, but excited! 

You had stayed upstairs for most of the day today, only coming down when the second monster was not there. You had blanched in horror at the sickly sight of the tops of the furniture brought in, and had quickly fixed it, but other than that, you had simply watched the Fire Man go about his business. You could admit that he fascinated you. How could something so destructive walk with such grace? It was as if he was  _ created _ to question the very nature of fire. 

He had caught you staring more than once, and each time, you quickly averted your eyes, a soft blush painting your face. Maybe you heard him chuckle. Maybe you didn’t. You refused to admit. 

After a while, you had retreated fully to the 2nd floor; the Fire Man’s friend had stayed more frequently and for longer, and you did not feel comfortable. It was later in the day, when you were curled up in the corner of the couch that you heard the squeak of the stairs again. The 4th step. No matter how you tried, the 4th step never stopped squeaking. You felt like a failure sometimes because of it’s stubbornness. 

The couch dipped at the Fire Man’s weight, and you chanced a glance in his direction. He was looking at you. You quickly looked away. 

Yup. That was a chuckle. The crackling of flame that laced his voice still sent shivers down your spine, and you flinched slightly. His laugh dropped almost immediately, and he cleared his throat once. You looked at him again, and his flames flickered a bit, burning higher. 

You acknowledge that as his form of a smile and one of the most terrifying things you have ever seen at the same time. You swallowed your fear and returned a shaky smile. Seemingly satisfied, he turned away, facing forward on the couch, and relaxing. 

Silence before this day was agonizing and lonely. This silence, though, bloomed a warmth in your heart that was not unlike the warmth of his arms around you. You could feel a peaceful drowsiness fall over you like a blanket warmed in the sun, and you let your eyes flicker shut. Your breath became even, and you curled even more into the couch, letting a small smile touch your face. 

“May I ask...” His voice caressed your ears, and you moved your head a bit to show you were listening. “...What...are you?” He questioned, and your soft smile grew only a bit more. 

“Silky.” You answered, shifting on the couch until you could rest your head not on the arm-rest, but rather the back of the couch. Your knees pulled up a bit, feet on the couch now, and you relaxed, more ready for a small nap than you were before. You continued drowsily. “I’m a house spirit. I’ve cared for this home for over a century and a half now. I’m tied to it.” You let out a soft yawn, blinking a few times. Grillby looked at you, at your peaceful face, your half-closed eyes, and couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and touching your foot, only right then realizing they were bare. 

Your feet were cold, and you let out a small hum of approval as his hand rested over them. 

“How long...” 

“My previous owner died 120 years ago.” you answered his silent question, fully closing your eyes as images of his... you blocked it out, refusing to let it ruin your first calm in a  _ very _ long time. 

“Oh.” the Fire Man sounded remorseful, and you appreciated it. Fire Man. Oh. Right. 

“What is your name?” You opened one eye to look at him. His face, previously looking toward the kitchen, turned to look at you. He let out a soft chuckle, and the cold terror weakly tickled your spine. You ignored it as best you could. 

“Grillby.” he said simply, and you hummed in response.  That sounded good. Grillby. Yes. You could call him that. “And you?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. You blinked. 

“I’m a silky.” You answered simply, looking at him confused. Silky’s had names, but they were rarely used. Normally they were either called Silky, or they were named something different by their “owners.” No one asked for a Silky’s name...

_ “I’m not just going to call you Silky,” he looked at you with a soft smile. “You’re a person too, ________” _

You smiled at the memory. Your first owner was a kind person. 

“I’m not going to call you Silky.” Grillby answered sternly, sounding almost shocked. You looked at him, blinking a few times. “You have a soul. So you have a name. And I will respect you.” 

You swallowed, your heart blooming once again with a heat you hadn’t felt in over a century. It traveled up to your throat, making it difficult to speak for a moment before you almost whispered your name to him. His flames flickered in satisfaction, and you jumped only slightly, the warmth in your heart counterbalancing the chill in your spine. 

“________. How fitting.” He nodded once. You blushed, looking down. 

“Thank you...” You muttered, ears feeling like fire. He nodded again, and then rested his head back against the couch. 

You fell into silence again, and it wasn’t long before you faded into sleep, dreams filled with comfort for the first time in forever. 


	2. They're Soft as Silk!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You realize your fear is slowly fizzling out. 
> 
> Sans and Toriel realize Grillby is a bit different.
> 
> Grillby realizes you're pretty useful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So remember I've got a tumblr now!  
> http://grillky.tumblr.com/
> 
> also HOLY SHIT THIS IS A LONG CHAPTER I'M SORRY!  
> also THANKS guys for your support! It's really helpful for continuing on! 
> 
> I wrote a chapter for my other fanfiction, and due to some glitching of AO3, it didn't really realize it was a new chapter, so I got a lot less comments, and I got kinda disheartened. That made me realize how important it was for me to get good feedback. 
> 
> So thanks guys for your help in keeping me writing!

You did not sleep long; Silky’s did not need sleep, but sometimes enjoyed it. Traditionally, they kept to the shadows during the day, watching over the family that resided in their home, and then came out to tend to the duties left undone during the night. It was easy to admit that you were slightly different, as you had abandoned the shadows many a year ago; it had been long enough that the shadows had forgotten you, leaving you exposed to the light of day whether you wanted or not. You still had the ability to phase through solid objects, and your cleaning and protection magic flowed through you, but your ability to disappear was completely gone. Therefore, after the Fire Man absconded to the bedroom with the warmth of his hands, you awoke. Blinking a few times, you looked around the room, letting the peaceful happiness settle in your heart. Yes, there were boxes scattered about, but your house was occupied once again! You weren’t alone! You jumped from the couch with a hop in your steps, and tiptoed almost giddily to the stairs. You skipped the fourth step as you headed downstairs, and shivered in discontent as your feet hit the cold tile of the downstairs kitchen. You had been busy throughout the first day of Grillby’s inhabitance removing box-lint from unpacked items and stealthily moving tables and chairs away from the burnt spot on your floor. Because of this, you had retreated to the upper level of the house discontent; there was still scratches on the new furniture, and the glasses behind the counter had water spots on them. Water spots! 

You cringed in disgust. 

The glasses had to be cleaned first. Period.

It was relatively simple to clean; you did not need rags or cleaning supplies. If your magic was good for anything, it was chores. You slid behind the bar of the newly furnished restaurant, and knelt in front of the glasses, plucking one from it’s resting place. Your eyes scrunched at the spots near the bottom, and your magic responded to your repugnance, spilling from your fingers and into the glass. Flicking like light grey tendrils, they licked and lapped at the innards of the glass lazily, eating the imperfections as if they were a the last remnants of a good meal. After only a few moments of delicate strokes, the glass shimmered with perfection, and you proudly returned it to its resting place, picking up it’s grimy brother. As you diligently repeated the process, your mind relaxed and slipped into a routine that it heavily missed. Cleaning an empty house was vastly different than caring for a furnished one; an empty house consisted of simply sweeping and scrubbing large areas whereas a home required much more fine details: corners to be swept, surfaces to be wiped, tables to be polished, glasses to be shined. The heavy, quick work of an empty house never compared to the delicacy of humming softly as you cleaned glass after glass, letting your mind wander in content. 

Speaking of wandering mind....

You never pictured a Fire Man being the new resident of your humble abode. In fact, after your last owner, a Fire Man was the last resident you thought you would ever want. But you were taught very quickly that nearly two centuries of loneliness could overpower even the strongest fear. Well, for the most part. (A shiver rolled up your spine as oranges overtook your memories, singing their edges.) He still terrified you, yes, but his presence filled an empty hole in your heart that you had previously accepted as a painful and unchanging truth in your existence. 

You reached the end of the first rack of glasses, and switched from a kneeling position to a more comfortable seated position as you moved to the bottom rack. Your humming became disjointed, random notes as your thoughts took more of your attention. 

He was quiet, but seemed to communicate just fine with graceful hand gestures and pointed head nods, if he communicated at all. Most of the time, he was self-sufficient. He never asked for help, or for items, never really needed anything. Often, you had helped him with things that could be silently understood. He began cleaning one table, you cleaned the rest. He carried one box in a large stack upstairs, you followed with another. Before he questioned you on the couch, you were sure you shared only a grunt or two between the both of you. 

You were completely okay with this; his voice still filled your stomach with lead. If he chose to never talk again, you were sure you would feel no remorse. Either way, his silence seemed to have no ill effect on his communication skills, and you appreciated and looked up to that. 

You finished the bottom rack of glasses, and spun around (gracefully spinning on only your booty. No one saw) to the alcoholic containers behind you. You began the same process, tendrils changing their appearance as they polished bottles rather than licked glasses. You carefully held the bottle in your hand as trails of grey rings travelled up the surface of the glass, not unlike electricity flickering up two metal rods, meeting at the top of the cork and dissipating, dropping the residue they collected on the top, to be wiped carefully away by your waiting fingers. You could narcissistically admit that you loved the look of your magic. 

He was different than your previous owner; Stoic, quiet, calm. You could not say in absolute that Grillby was the quiet, angry type as you barely knew him, but that is what you pictured. A Fire Man not to be trifled with, a Fire Man not to disappoint, a Fire Man who would easily end you if you angered him. 

You noted that you were glad that the years behind you had made you a graceful Silky who rarely messed up. 

You blinked a few times when you reached the top of the wall of now shimmering alcohol. How much time had passed since you started? You had planned to finish the entire room, but if the light level of the room had any mark on the time of day, then you guessed that the sun was rising soon, or the Fire Man had snuck up on you. You let out a small chuckle. No one snuck up on you, not in your house at least. You turned from the wall of bottles, and meandered to the window, lifting up a curtain. You’ve always loved the windows of your dwelling the most. Their deep-set style always created the best sitting place for sunrise and sunset watching. You slipped under the curtain and set yourself up on the inner sill, letting the curtain hide you from the unfinished room on the other side. You let out a contented sigh as you rested your back on the wall behind you, turning your head out to the scene in front of you. The mountain was relatively far away, but it’s shape made for a perfect sillouhette for the sunrise. you could look past the dilapidated buildings in front of you in order to stare at the forever structure of the mountain. It was picture perfect, for you at least. 

You told yourself you would finish the cleaning later in the day, as you knew you would be sitting here for quite a bit of time. 

________________  
________________

Waking up to sunlight was something that Grillby was not used to. He presumed that if he were not made of fire himself, the ribbons of light cascading over his eyes would have been much less welcome. But, as he WAS made of light, they simply acted as a pleasant natural alarm, coaxing him from the comfort of sleep into the comfort of the waking world. He gave himself the grace of waking up slowly, staring at the ceiling as his consciousness slowly returned and meandered from one topic to another. 

The move yesterday had been nearly flawless. The purchase of the corner property had been a very good decision; it was extremely visible, and had no outer or inner damage (except for the 4th step and that pesky burn on the floor), unlike the rest of the neighborhood, which sat in near ruins. Roofs didn’t exist, windows were broken, many walls were falling apart. The area where the neighborhood existed was perfect, but each building needed a lot of help before it could house anyone. Grillby had just been exceptionally lucky. For a moment, his mind flickered to the Silky sleeping on his couch. You were probably the only reason his new home was in such a good condition. 

When Grillby saw the condition of this location, he knew it would be perfect for two reasons. One, it was perfect for a restaurant, and two, if one place was up and running, the rest of the monsters would have a place to visit, rest, and eat while they were making their own homes liveable. What better place than Grillbz, an already well known bar that invited people with open arms, and a warm atmosphere? Grillby’s flames sparked a bit in pride at his ability to help his monster kin, and he sat up and kicked his feet over the edge of the bed. 

Grillby reminded himself that he owed a great thanks to you for keeping at least one building habitable; it would make the re-creation of this town that much more enjoyable. Maybe he could get you some new clothing, and socks. Definitely socks. With that in mind, Grillby lifted himself fully from bed, and got himself ready for the day. He left his room, perfectly groomed as always, and found his way to the couch to check on you. He reached the couch in a few steps, and leaned over the back to find that you were not there. Pausing for a moment, he pondered where you could be, and then rested his hand on the cushion where you had sat last night. It was cold. 

His mind wandered for a moment, and a passing thought flickered in his consciousness: had you left? He shook it off quickly with a small scoff. You had to be somewhere nearby; in the little time that he had known you, he learned that you would not abandon your home. His eyes wandered the upstairs, searching for your small frame and grey dress. After checking the upstairs kitchen and bathroom, he trailed downstairs, wincing at the squeaking of the 4th step. That needed fixing. 

When he reached the downstairs, he passed the kitchen and walked into the bar, eyes still wandering about. You were nowhere to be seen. He nearly admitted defeat when he noticed a soft shimmering near the covered window. 

Translucent, grey-blue, and wispy, as it it weren’t quite...solid. He recognized that soul, and his own seemed to let out a small breath as he confirmed that yes, you did exist, and yes, you were still here. He walked to where he had found you, and pulled back one of the curtains, causing you to jump slightly (only slightly- what an improvement!), and turn your gaze from the horizon to him. You had a dreamy, peaceful look on your eyes, as if you had been watching the sunrise for quite a while now. Grillby decided that that must be what you had been doing, and looked at the horizon. The sun had broken free from the mountain’s clutch, but the light still held the special morning hues that gave a silent neighborhood a sort of ethereal presence. He acknowledged your choice in morning activity, and agreed with it’s peaceful effect. Letting the curtain drop back and hide you again, he retreated behind his bar, and pulled out two mugs (He paused for a moment to revel in the spotless glasses, and realized that you probably did not sleep last night. He pondered if he should be worried about that fact or not, and penciled it as something to save for later). 

He filled each mug 3/4ths of the way with apple juice, and quickly heated both, letting them sit, boiling hot on the counter, as he reached under the counter. Coming back up, he dropped a pinch of whole cloves and two generous pinches of brown sugar into each cup, stirring each cup with their own individual cinnamon stick. A pinch of allspice on the top, and a second heating, and he was content with his morning comfort drink. He paused for a millisecond at the thought of adding a splash of rum, but decided the morning was crisp enough to make up for the lack of a small spike. ((author's note: if you want to make this drink, let the cinnamon and cloves sit for quite a bit longer before drinking: they need to infuse with the apple juice before the flavor actually kicks in. use as much of each ingredient as you feel fit: smell each one, and decide which one you want more or less of. It’s a customisable drink!))

A mug in each hand, Grillby returned to the window where you resided, drawing the curtains now. You were looking at him already when the curtains revealed you, and he placed the cup on the sill, giving you a soft nod. You looked between him and the mug, and then reached down to take the mug. As you lifted the mug and blew on the curling steam, Grillby retrieved a chair from one of the nearby tables, and sat with you, watching the silent morning along with you. You folded your legs to the side a bit so he could see over your knees. After you both settled again, you took your first tentative sip. 

Grillby felt pride wash over him at your wondrous expression after the first sip, and couldn’t help but chuckle when you quickly took a second, and then scrunched your eyes up, no doubt having burnt your tongue in your haste. you shot him a quick glance, a soft blush touching your cheeks before you returned to your cup, pointedly ignoring him as you blew impatiently on the golden elixir. At your third sip, you let out a soft sigh, and Grillby agreed with your sentiment. 

This was nice. Yes, there was still the silent discomfort of strangers sharing a space, or new friends testing the waters, but the peaceful morning, at least, was enjoyable. Grillby admitted to himself that he could get used to mornings like this; watching the sunrise with the companionship of another being, but without the spiked energy that accompanied them. 

You and he finished your drinks nigh a sip apart, and you calmly took the dish from him, hopping down from your position on the sill, and stretching lightly. He nearly offered to take the dishes from you, but one sharp glare retracted his offering hand. You glided across the dining hall, and slipped behind the bar, dumping out the used spices, and quickly tickling your fingers over and inside the dish, letting your magic do the rest. Now clean, the cups were returned to their rightful place, none the wiser. 

Grillby, meanwhile, filed away the fact that you had more magic than fading through a door. 

A couple hours passed, and you were almost completely finished with the extra chores you had given yourself. The tops of the tables, previously cleaned, were now polished to absolute perfection, shining like the pride in your eyes when you looked at them. The chairs and booths shared the same shining look, although the chairs shined less simply because you had firm belief that chairs were meant to look used; what is a chair without a butt to match it? During your work, you had the Fire Man with you, slowly taking stock of his alcohol and groceries. You found yourself in the habit of staring at him as you went about your cleaning; he seemed to share the same ease that you did while cleaning. He looked like he was in his element as he went over his stock. The poise in his movements, the surety of his face as he swept his gaze over the shelves, the flickering of his fire when he found a hole in his stock. You had to admit that you were mesmerized. 

He had caught you staring here and there, and you responded with something between a shy, guilty smile and an awkward grimace. Sometimes, you wondered what your response to him catching you made him think, but you could not worry about that. No. You could not worry about that. Nope..... Okay you worried about that. Did he think you were still terrified of him (you kinda were), or did he think you were uncomfortable with him being in your home (you...kinda were...). Did he see you as a neat freak (need you answer this one?), or did he think you were judging him for his diligent work on his selection of alcohol (THAT one you could proudly say no to!). 

Near the fourth hour, he left. In the fifth hour, he returned with a hurried closing of the front door, and a worried gait as he rushed to you, holding a sign in one hand, and a bag in the other. If you looked closely, you could see most of the letters. “-pen.” You raised an eyebrow at him as he hurried over to you. He stopped a generous distance away, and looked straight at you. Your eyebrow only raised further and for a brief moment, you appreciated your and his ability to communicate in silence. His head jerked upward once, and you recieved the meaning instantaneously, nodding back before turning about face and retreating to the top floor. Someone was coming. 

You hopped over the fourth step, glanced around the top floor for something to clean, and set yourself on the couch when you found nothing. Your ears perked as you listened for the voice of a visitor. What you heard brought a frown to your lips; there was not a visitor, but rather a stampede of footsteps, and a cacophony of voices. It was only now that you realized that the sign’s missing letter was an O. “Open.” 

Well...

Fuck. 

You could literally feel the discomfort crawl up your spine as you heard the screeching of chairs over the wood floor you JUST polished, and the very loud voices echoing up the staircase. 

The floor and tables were easily fixed, but you still felt uncomfortable with the amount of people that currently walked about the floors of your house downstairs. 

You paused, and chastised yourself for a moment. This was not your house anymore, it was Grillby’s. Silky’s were meant to accept the choices of the head of household, and not complain if they hid in the shadows, or join in if they were a visible Silky (as you were). 

And you would! 

You would....

...

Later. Not tonight. You were still reeling over one person entering your house; going downstairs and accepting even more than 2 seemed near impossible. You were sure you would literally explode! Your heart couldn’t take it! 

So, instead, you decided you would stay upstairs for the night. It was simple enough, to relax upstairs. You had spent over a century “relaxing,” and doing nothing. One night would pass in seconds!

You sat on the couch, tuning out for a while. 

You meandered about the living room, and then the kitchen. 

You returned to the couch, fluffing the cushions and sitting down again. 

You got up, and tried to re-clean practically everything (that was already spotless)

You found yourself on the couch again, staring at the ceiling.

Okay. You were bored.

When you heard the 4th step squeak, you had the upper half of your body hanging over the armrest of the couch, counting the dents on the boxes in your field of vision. When you shot up from the couch, you caught the Fire Man frozen in the doorway, staring straight at you. You froze, eyes wide as you stared straight at him, caught red handed. 

After a few very tense moments, you watched as he unfroze with a jolt, and his shoulders shook. You could hear a faint crackling of fire, but you deliberately ignored it. One of his hands- the one not occupied with two bags- covered the upper half of his face, and he shook his head, shoulders still shaking. His face and the top of his head seemed to flicker more quickly, as if someone had blew on a candle on his head, making the walls behind him glimmer sporadically in response. You sat there for a moment, admiring -no wait, observing him until you realized what he was doing. 

He was laughing! He was laughing at you! A pout found a way on your features, and you looked away with a blush. You weren’t childish! 

You were a graceful, old, perfect Silky who never got bored. At least that's what you told yourself. 

After a few moments, the hand touching his face waved at you, up and down as if telling you- or was he telling himself?- that he was fine. His shoulders fell still, mostly, and he walked over to the couch, sitting on the opposite side of you. You looked back at him with tight lips, and his shoulders shook a bit more as he placed the two bags he held in between the both of you. You looked at him, then the bags, and then at him again. He nodded toward the bags, and you understood, reaching into the bag. Your hand touched cloth, and you pulled out a pair of pants. Your eyes grew wide. Was he gifting you pants? PANTS! What the- But women couldn’t wear pants, right?

...right? It HAD been about 200 years since you’ve seen another woman, let alone taken a walk around town and observed fashion trends, but pants? You nearly thrust the incriminating article of clothing away from you, but then you remembered that they were a gift to you. You glanced at them again. Maybe monster culture was different, and pants were a common article for women? 

You could feel temptation tickling at your mind, and you licked your lips. They did look comfortable... You quickly shook your head, dismissing the thought as you dipped your hand back into the bag. Pants needed a shirt to go with...them...anyway...

You pulled out a shirt. Of course. He had purchased an outfit for you! You let out a snort of a chuckle at your thought process, and unfolded the shirt, holding it out in front of you. Now THIS was definitely a man’s shirt. It was collared, button up, long sleeve. You wondered for a moment if he just wanted you to pull out his clothing from the bag. You looked up at him, confused, and he nodded at you. Nope. Definitely for you. You blinked a few times, then looked at him. He nodded again, this time toward the bathroom. 

Right. Try them on. Your face lit up red as you slinked to the bathroom, new clothing like lead in your hands. You closed the door behind you, and stared at the clothing. It felt like a sin to put on pants. 

A beautiful, beautiful, satisfying sin. You slipped the pants on quickly, -were they supposed to sag like that? Also, you were pretty sure pants weren’t supposed to be shoes as well, but these pants has so much extra... pant... that they covered your entire foot plus about an extra 4 inches,- and then leaned against the wall to keep them up. You then pulled your dress over your head, replacing it with the shirt. You had a bit of difficulty finding your hands in the sea of cloth that was the sleeves, and buttoning up the shirt was nigh impossible simply because the cuffs kept flopping about your hands. When you finished though, you looked at yourself in the mirror. Every button but the collar was buttoned, but the shirt opened and dipped still kinda low. You were sure if you pulled the collar to the side, it would hang over your shoulder. The sleeves were some ought 6 inches too long, and the bottom of the shirt hid your knees. 

You looked ridiculous! But Fire Man had bought them for you. Your heart warmed up slightly at the thought of your resident showing such kindness. You couldn’t just fold them up and toss them back... You had to walk out there and show him your gratitude! If you could walk, that is. You opened the door, pulled your pants up, and began your treacherous trek to the couch. 

You were a graceful, old silky who never tripped over her feet. But when Grillby turned around at the sound of your footsteps, and froze at the sight of you, you felt yourself freeze up, and tumble forward, face-planting into the carpet below you, cloth tangled around your feet. 

The sound that followed your tumble should have made you scream with how it crackled and popped, but instead it made you look up in surprise at the man now keeled over himself, holding his stomach and barking out laughter. Yes. No one could mistake that sound for anything other than laughter. It had his voice in it-not the crackling and popping, but the deep, sooty voice he spoke to you last night with- but it was so much more than that. It swooshed, it flickered, it crackled and popped. His flames flipped and snapped about, twice their normal size, but dancing gleefully, licking the air as if quickly kissing a long lost lover. 

You should be terrified. You should be frozen in horror! 

You were frozen in awe instead. How could a man who you assumed was a stoic anger tank have a laugh that literally personified glee? The entire room warmed with his flicking mirth, and you weren’t sure if it was the temperature, or the mood. Possibly both, but you were too mesmerized by the Fire Ma- Grillby. He was... He was gorgeous. 

Finally, he calmed down enough to look at you,still sprawled on the ground and staring at him like he was one of the 7 wonders of the world, and he seemed to realize the socially correct action for the moment, and he jumped up, rushing over to you. You were shaken from your stupor as he placed his arms under yours, and gently lifted you to a standing position. Your feet touched the ground, and you immediately shot him a glare that nearly shouted ‘you did this to me.’ He did not deny it, shoulders still shaking in barely contained laughter. You would have been more angry if you didn’t, somewhere deep in your mind, find this situation funny as well. In an embarrassed bout of anger, you stomped away from him by a few steps, and literally walked out of your pants, tripping over the fabric once more, and flailing as you fell. 

Nope. This wasn’t funny. Not one inch, not one lick, not one bit. 

You ignored the sound of Grillby hitting the floor as he laughed himself to death, and quickly scurried to the bathroom again, leaving the guilty pants behind, and slamming the door behind you, letting yourself slide to the ground against the door, using your back as a makeshift lock. 

A while later, the sound of Grillby’s laugh pittered off, and a while after that, you heard him knock on the bathroom door. You frowned, shifting a bit. You had no intentions of moving right now. When you thought about it a bit more, you weren’t really mad at him, just completely horrified at the events that just transpired. You had only just met the guy, and you had already fallen out of your clothes in front of him... 

You covered your face and let out an undignified squeak. Shortly afterward, you heard the footsteps of Grillby retreating, and let out your breath. You changed back into your old dress-which now felt scratchy and old in comparison to the soft shirt- and opened the door. Something on the floor caught your attention, and you looked down. Resting at your feet was the second bag, and a little, yellow sticky note on its front. You grabbed the bag, and walked to the couch, grabbing the pants on your way. After tossing-and then pulling out, neatly folding, and replacing- the shirt and pants to their original bag, you looked at the second one. The note on the bag took your attention first; you pulled it from the front, and tried to read it. The writing was scratchy and quick, but at least legible. 

“I’m sorry,” it read, and you could feel your heart settle a bit at the two words, a small smile attempting to pull at your lips. You placed the note on the arm-rest, and dipped into the bag. 

Your hands touched something immensely soft, like you were stroking literal clouds. You grabbed at the object, and pulled it out. You blinked, staring at the grey and white socks. They were so... they were so FUZZY!! 

Okay he was forgiven. 

______________________  
______________________  
“You know we could hear you from all the way down here, right?” Sans asked the moment Grillby walked into the bar again. Grillby’s face lit up blue a bit before he shrugged in Sans’ direction. Sans simply gave him a knowing grin, and continued sipping at his ketchup. Toriel, who sat next to him with Frisk, however, was much more vocal. 

“We did, Grillby! I do not believe I have ever heard you say more than a word, let alone laugh with such abandon!” Toriel’s eyes practically sparkled as she spoke to the bartender, leaning over the bar. “I don’t mean to grill you, but what could you be hiding up there that is so funny?” She asked, raising her eyebrow. Sans’ smile became all the more smug when Grillby froze up a bit, looking at her. “I’m sorry for intruding so much, it’s just,” Her eyes changed then, growing a bit more mischievous, “Your laugh is so smooth and silky!” Her raised eyebrow dropped as the other one lifted, creating quite an impressive eyebrow waggle. Sans snorted in his ketchup, and Grillby shot a look in his traitorous direction. 

Sans shrugged, closing one eye. “Sorry bud, you know i’m not good at keeping secrets. You can wash my mouth later,” He paused, looking over at him with a smug grin, “or ____ can.” Grillby lifted his hand and pointed a finger gun at Sans, cocking and shooting it at his head. Little flames erupted from his fingers, and flew in Sans’ direction, spreading out harmlessly when they hit his face, but causing him to jump a few inches out of his chair nonetheless. 

“woah, grillbz, no need to get so heated, it was just a joke. ya’ didn’t need to blow up in my fac-” Another shot, this one a bit more quick, like a squirt of water, but...well...fire. Sans got the clue, and closed his mouth. 

“Oh! I heard you got her some new clothing!” Toriel interjected excitedly, and both Grillby and Frisk looked over at her. “So tell me, Grillby, does she-” Toriel’s face twisted into something diabolical, “clean up well?” 

“Stop or leave my bar.” Grillby said simply, but the fact that he said it spoke miles. Both jokesters quickly stopped their antics, leaving Grillby to his work. When he left their presence, though, the two began speaking again. 

“Have you ever seen him this happy?” Toriel asked Sans, and he shook his head. Frisk looked up and shook their head as well before shoving another fry into their mouth happily. 

“nah, he’s always been pretty reserved. He’s only spoken to me a handful of times, and i think he said something to Frisk once,” Frisk raised their hand, holding up a peace sign, “I mean twice, apparently,” Sans corrected. Toriel nodded thoughtfully. 

“That's odd,” Toriel mused, “they’ve only known each other for 2 or three days, and she already poked her way through his fiery exterior.”

“I don’t know if it’s that.” Sans poured some ketchup on Frisk’s plate when they asked, and then looked back up at Toriel. “He’s on the surface now, he has a new bar, he’s able to be helpful to the whole community by opening up earlier than the rest of us. Grillby’s got a whole bunch of reasons to be happy right now. I don’t think she’s the only reason, or even a large one. Just a companion for him to use as an outlet for his excess mirth.” 

“An outlet?” 

“Yeah. Like how someone can’t bottle in all their anger, so they take it out on someone? I think this situation is the opposite.” Sans pointed his ketchup bottle in Grillby’s direction, where he was placing what seemed like an endless supply of drinks onto one table. “He’s obviously overjoyed, but he doesn’t really show it.” Sans sniffed, and scratched the back of his head. “It’s not really his thing, to show emotions in public.” 

“So she’s just in the line of fire?” Toriel asked with a raised eyebrow, and Sans gave her a eyebrow waggle back. 

“That, i’m not sure about. If there weren’t a person in the house, I wonder if he’d express his happiness at all. So maybe she’s an enabler? An Enemberler..An emberler... An enembler... I give up.” 

“Nice try though?”

“eh.” Sans took a sip of his ketchup, and glanced around the bar, watching Grillby at work. Everyone seemed to be aiming for new goals now that they were on the surface. Travelling the world, creating new businesses, going to college. Grillby, though, seemed like he was the only one to just... move his life from down there to up here. No higher goal, no changes at all. Sans wondered if it was because he was content with his life, or if he just found comfort in the unchanging, or if he had no drive for differences. 

He had lived for a very long time. Maybe he had just given up on everything other than his bar? Sans let out a sigh. Hopefully, he thought, hopefully Grillby would find a new happiness up here as well. 

 

The night ended pretty peacefully, and everyone left happy and buzzed. When the final voice trailed off with a pun and a wave, the door was closed and locked. The lock’s click withdrew you from your bored stupor, and you raised your head. They were gone? You had your house back? You held your breath for a moment, sneaking to the top of the stairs. You heard a soft huff of air and a familiar whooshing sound, and you nearly flew down the stairs in your relief, taking them two-by-two. When your feet hit the tile of the kitchen, the fuzzy socks you were wearing nearly slipped from under you, and you flailed, spinning your arms back and forth as you slid across the kitchen. You caught yourself on the doorframe between the kitchen and the bar, and you poked your head into the restaurant. 

You spotted the frazzled bartender standing in front of the entrance, running his hands through his the flames atop his head, and then flicking his gaze in your direction. You gave him a hesitant smile, “Are they gone?” You questioned, and with a quick nod from him, you shuffled into the bar carefully, never letting your feet leave the ground. When he cocked his head to the side at your odd walking pattern, you motioned toward your feet, “Socks.” You said, shuffling a bit more, “it’s slippery.” 

He chuckled lightly, and crossed the room to reach you. You found yourself smiling at him, now clutching the bar for support. Maybe you should take the socks off... 

Nnnaahhhhh. 

“Well then.” Grillby speaks, stopping in front of you, “Don’t wear them.” he suggest, and you gasp loudly, making Grillby flinch, but when you hold your hand to your chest in mock offense, he seems to relax a bit. 

Oh. He must have thought he scared you again. Shouldn’t that have scared you? He came to you quickly, and spoke at the same time, but the chill that normally accompanied his approach was barely noticeable, and even if you did notice it, the warmth that touched your heart and face quickly scared it away. At this realization, you gave him a sincere smile, and you could see his flames flicker in response. 

No chill. Oh. Maybe your fear was over? 

“But the socks are so soft! I don't think I could bear taking them off for even one moment!” You scoffed, and you heard a soft chuckle come from your audience. 

“So you like them then.”

“No I hate them.”

“.....”

“Sorry.... I actually love them.” you guiltily corrected your sarcasm, and got a small chuckle from him. He placed a hand on your shoulder for a brief moment, flame flickering lightly, and you took it as a smile and a “you’re welcome.” He passed you, heading behind the bar counter, and kneeling. You followed him for a moment, watching as he pulled out a rag..and...cleaning supplies... 

Suddenly, you remembered to look at the rest of the room rather than him, and you gasped in horror at the atrocity. Grillby looked up just as you looked down at him accusingly for ruining your home, and he raised his shoulders, as if saying it was inevitable. You let out a huff, and immediately began your work, flitting about the tables and grabbing the dishware that was left on the tables, bringing them to rest on the bar top before flitting back to the tables to begin wiping them down, your magic just as gung-ho as you. Grillby followed quickly after that with a rag of his own, and began on the other half of the room. You shot a quick glance at him. You would have shooed him away, but you needed (needed) this place at least slightly clean. You moved much faster than him, swiftly moving from table to table, your magic eating away at the stains, wet spots, and spilled condiments while Grillby had to return to the bar over and over to rinse out his rag. By the time you finished three fourths of the tables and moved onto the sweeping, Grillby had finished a fourth of the tables, and stood there awkwardly for a moment before deciding to right the chairs about the floor. You finished sweeping, your magic less ravenous now that it had been fed, but still craving the insides of the glasses resting on the bar. You obliged, moving onto the dishes and returning them to their spotless condition from the morning. You re-organized the alcohol to match the exact placement you had memorized the night before (from cleaning them), and then finished with a wipe of the bar, barstools, and jute-box. 

Grillby finished re-placing the last chair, and looked up from his work, pausing in what you could only assume was awe. You stood there proudly (yeah. You were proud. What silky wouldn’t be after a clean like that?) before him, a wide grin set on your lips. It was completely silent for a while before Grillby spoke. 

“..............that was fast.” he said, and you could hear the slow-processing shocked undertones. They only made you more proud. Grillby looked down at his watch, and his flames flickered a bit. “It’s 2:10.” He said simply, shuffling his feet a bit, and your smile grew. “I normally finish at 3.” You were pretty sure your smile would fall off your face with how large it was. Grillby paused for a moment longer, and then looked up at you. “You’re hired.” 

“Of course I am.” You said with an eyebrow waggle, earning yourself a chuckle. 

You liked that chuckle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cough*  
> http://grillky.tumblr.com/  
> *cough* 
> 
> Next chapter is when (i hope) the awkwardness between Grillby and Reader will be gone, and they can start getting alone pretty well. I've got plans for Reader to meet Sans and Frisk next chapter, along with some slightly angsty stuff going on. So That's gonna happen. Sorry.


	3. A past much longer than a shopping trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grillby requests that you get some fresh air by handing you a shopping list. You do not enjoy discovering the changes the world has gone through in 150 years, but that is nothing to the face you meet on your hurry home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> grillky.tumblr.com
> 
> GUYS I'VE FINALLY GOT A DIRECTION FOR THIS BUGGER! PREPARE FOR A RIDE!

You sat on the window sill, sipping slowly at the “drink of the morning,” a steaming ginseng tea, watching the sunrise. Grillby relaxed on a chair next to you, sipping at his own drink in compatible silence. The crackling heat from him contrasted the cold that ebbed from the window on your other side, and you let out a contented sigh, a soft smile tickling your lips. 

 

It had been at least a month since you were officially “hired,” and you and Grillby had fallen into an easy routine. You communicated mostly via post-it notes in weird places, as you and he had very different daily routines. You stayed upstairs during the day, and cleaned downstairs during the night, whereas he spent all his time in the bar during the day, and was beat by the end of the day. You greeted each other when he came up the stairs, spent about an hour or two on the couch both reading and sometimes sharing a minor conversation, and then he headed to bed, you downstairs. The same routine happened in the morning, but downstairs at the window where you both enjoyed a drink of his choice while watching the sunrise. Then, you were the one to retreat upstairs while he began his routine to open the bar. 

 

The post-it notes kinda just  _ happened. _ It started with his apology with the clothing fiasco, and then continued when you found a second post-it note on a second bag. It had just a large shirt, a pair of pants that were much more reasonably sized, a belt, and a note that said, “hopefully these will fit better.” They did, and were much more comfortable than your ratty old dress. You wore the easy outfit every day now, and had thanked him by polishing all 15 pairs of his shoes to a shining perfection, and leaving a “thank you for the clothes” post-it on the middle pair. From there, little favors and notes became a regular thing. He cooked breakfast and left it on the table for you with a note telling you to keep yourself nourished (Fries for breakfast? ... you didn't eat it). You fixed minor holes in his shirts and wrote him to leave out any damaged items to be fixed on the couch. 

 

One day, you had gotten the gall to place a little post-it note on the bar that said “Have a good day” with an erased smiley face (you had scribbled the smiley face, and then shyly erased it... unfortunately, it was still pretty visible). From then on, little notes of encouragement or even just conversation began to pop up around the house and bar. A “Did you have a good day?” here, a “Don’t forget to eat!” there, to even a “This table is crooked and I can’t fix it! >.<” from you at some point in time. The longest note sequence was always above the fourth step on the stairs. 

 

-Please step over this step. It squeaks. 

 

*I hadn’t noticed. 

 

-...Was that sarcasm?

 

*Yes.

 

-I am in no need for your sarcasm. 

 

*I apologize. Do you want me to fix this step?

 

-You can try if you want. I can’t fix it, so i doubt you can. 

 

*Watch me. 

(A week had passed in post-it silence after that last yellow sheet, and as each day passed, you grew more and more smug. Finally, after 7 days of secretly listening to him angrily attempt to fix the step while you cleaned, another note appeared.) 

 

*I can’t fix it.

 

\- >:}

 

A couple of days after that final note, Grillby had come up the stairs after a long day with a bag in his hands. He had bought you quite a few books on home decoration and puzzles (?) to keep you entertained during the long day, and soon after, you had gotten into the habit of moving all the furniture almost every night, attempting to recreate the different decors that showed up in the books. The first time Grillby came upstairs after he bought you the books, he set off the fire-alarm in surprise when he noticed the complete change of his home (You were proud to say that your magic could also change the color of furniture, carpet, and walls, so the house looked  _ very _ different). After that first initial shock, Grillby had developed the habit of rating your redecorations on a 1-10 scale via post-it note next to your morning breakfast. 

 

Needless to say, you and he were both comfortable with your routine. You enjoyed your time with him early in the mornings and late at night, and the post-it notes never failed to bring a smile to your face. Sans had commented to Grillby more than once on how clean the bar was, and (even more so) how much happier Grillby was (Grillby always responded with a shrug). 

 

You took another sip of your tea, staring out the window. The mountains were beautiful as ever, but the one difference between now and a month and a half ago was the buildings. They no longer contrasted the beauty of the mountain with their dilapidated roofs and crumbling walls, but framed it with their unique shapes and signs of life. You smiled. You were apprehensious at first to have your little town re-filled with life, but watching each cookie-cutter house get torn down and replaced with houses of  _ every _ shape and size over the last month had brought you an immense amount of joy and entertainment. Just from your vantage point of the window, you could see at least 3 igloos, a dog house, a house that looked like a fish and a... lab(?) put together, and one “eternally decorated for christmas” house (There was fake snow  _ glued _ to the roof!). On top of that, this town seemed to wake up much earlier than your previous town. Before, it was almost unheard of for you to see someone walking around before the sunrise, but here, you could already see different monsters walking about. Some watched the sunrise, some snagged their newspaper (It was a small newspaper, Grillby told you it was run by a couple named RG1 and RG2, whoever they were), some just meandered for morning walks. 

 

It was nice. 

 

“You can leave, you know.” Grillby broke the silence, and you glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. He said no more, and you gave a quiet “mmm” as a response, returning to the scenery outside the window. 

 

“I can’t.” You said after a few more sips of tea. When Grillby “mmm’d” in question, you continued. “Silkies are tied to their home. I can’t leave without a specific reason given to me by my owner.” You could see Grillby’s flame flicker oddly; the light around you grew brighter for a moment, and then dance along the walls. You turned to him in question, and your eyes grew wide at the sight of him. His flames jumped and twisted around each other, smoke puffing out as the flames crackled and spat. It didn’t seem like anger; no, you imagined anger to be much larger and louder. This seemed more like... agitation? Frustration? You filed that for later, still watching the soft pops of the top of his head. You zoned out for a while, wondering if you touched the fire, you would burn your fingers. Did he have a head, or did the fire just become denser and denser until you reached his face. Was it like hair? Could you stroke it? 

 

You wanted to stroke it. 

 

“I’m out of tea.” Grillby said, but the way he said it made it sound like more than a conversation starter; almost as if it had some importance to it. You snapped from your zoning, and looked down at him. He wasn’t paying quite attention to you, but he did nod his head in some silent agreement with himself, and he stood up. Your eyes followed him as he walked to the bar, and pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil. Curious, you crawled out of your spot, and meandered to the bar, reaching it just as he finished jotting on the paper. He ripped it from the pad and handed it to you. You took and read it. 

 

From The Tea Shop: Say Grillby sent you. 

-Licorice

-Chai

-Green (Matcha, not bags)

-Ginseng

-Echinacea 

-Echo-nacea

 

From the Grocery Store:

-Ground beef (at least 15 pounds) 

-Potatoes 

....

It was a grocery list! Your eyes shot to Grillby; he was staring at you. Your eyes looked back down to the list, and he spoke. “Take your time, and enjoy yourself.” You looked up at him again, and he nodded his head toward the door. You blinked, a pressure growing in your chest. 

 

You swallowed, “Grillby-”

 

“Go on,” He urged, “have fun.” You got the gist, and began walking toward the door. You stopped in front of it, looking back at him. He only waved you off, and your throat clogged up. Right. You had an order. Clutching the list in your hand, your hand touched the doorknob. Magic chilled through your body, and you could feel yourself change. Your shoulders grew heavier, your feet thicker. Right. You had forgotten how it felt to be out-of-house. You opened, stepped out of, and closed the door, the sound of the wood clicking shut filling you with a sense of disconnection. You took a few comforting breaths, and turned to begin your trek. 

 

And froze. Across the street, a woman was staring at you, eyes wide as saucers to see you leave Grillby’s before it was even open. She looked like some sort of fish woman, wearing simple jeans and a black shirt, which revealed just how ridiculously ripped she was. You opened your mouth, and then snapped it shut, never breaking eye-contact with her. Watching her face slowly go from shocked to the widest, scariest smile you’ve ever seen filled you with....

 

Anxiety!

 

“ALPHYS!!!” The fish woman practically shouted, whipping around and bounding back into the fish-shaped house/lab thing you saw every morning. Ah. That explains a lot. Before the woman could return with another person, you ducked your head and rushed off, heart thudding. You were already feeling overwhelmed, and you hadn’t even gotten a block away from Grillby’s! You hadn’t spoken to anyone else since Grillby moved in, and you were still nervous! But now you were rushing down the street, without any guidance, going to an inhabited area where you would have to talk with a bunch of strangers. Your heart thudded even more, and you found a frown gluing itself to your face. You weren’t used to this. You weren’t ready for this. It had been a century and a half since you’ve stepped out of your house, and now you were immediately going to have to interact with people... You took a few breaths to calm yourself down, and continued your quick rush down the street, eyes staying peeled for the grocery store. 

 

There! 

 

You rushed toward it, and nearly tripped over yourself when the doors  _ opened for you!  _ You stumbled through the now open threshold, and took in a sharp breath, now frozen in place. This place was HUGE! Why were the lights so  _ harsh?  _ And the light they gave off was  _ white? _ White! Were those cabinets with glass fronts? And they were  _ lit up!  _ With those white lights! Your eyes darted from place to place around the giant store, every image frightening and exciting you at the same time. 

They had  _ conveyor belts _ in the front of the store!  _ Conveyor belts! _ And people were just casually walking up to them and plopping their stuff on the belts, letting them roll along the conveyor belt, where the cashier picked them up and slid them across the table. It made the weirdest sound you’ve ever heard, and you couldn’t help but let out a small gasp. 

 

It was only at that moment that you realized that quite a few people were staring at you. Your throat clenched up as your eyes darted from staring face to staring face, and you could feel bile rolling in the back of your mouth. Your heart thudded in your chest, and your hands twitched. 

 

Everything was so different, everyone was staring at you, there were weird noises, doors opened FOR you, the glass cabinets released giant clouds when someone opened them... 

 

You couldn’t do this. 

 

Quickly turning around, you quick-walked out of the store, and down the road, heading home as fast as you could. You passed other monsters who greeted you happily, but they only increased your anxiety as you quickly mumbled a greeting back, eyes staring at the ground. Occasionally, you looked up to check how close you were. You could see Grillby’s close now. Probably only a minute more now. 

 

You slammed into a monster in front of you, and nearly fell to the ground if it weren’t for a strong hand on your upper arm, “Woah, there, missy! What’s got you rushin’ like a-?” The voice faded away, and you kept your head low, staring at the feet in front of you. They were green and scaley, and they rang in your head as something you should remember. 

 

“Sorry sorry sorry,” You quickly mumbled out, face bright red as you practically ripped your arm from the hand, and began to pass the monster in front of you, aiming to get back home as quick as possib-

 

“Silky.” The voice spoke up, deeper, more commanding, grave. You stopped, chills running down your spine and up your neck. “More specifically, ______, isn’t it?” The voice questioned, and you finally turned to face him, head still bent down. 

 

“Sir.” You answered respectfully, darkly. Your panic had subsided, replaced with a weighted numbness. 

 

“At ease, _______, it’s not the way it was before.” The voice spoke, reminiscent, tired, but much less strained than the last time you spoke to it. “These times are much different. You can look at me.” You didn’t move. “Please,” the voice sounded more tired, “It’s over, Sil-.... ________.” You still stared at the ground, shivering, shaking. “_______.” The voice spoke again, and you felt a heavy hand rest on your shoulder. You looked at it. It was older than you remember, but still strong. You knew that scaled green hand could probably still wield the hammer you so clearly remember. You heard the voice again, low and serious. “No one blames you, _______.” You choked up, tears threatening to spill over as you looked up at the monster in front of you. 

 

Gerson. 

 

________________

________________

 

Grillby looked out the window, wondering how long it would take for you to get back. About a minute and a half after you left, he had begun to worry. If what you said was correct, then you hadn’t been out of the house for over 150 years. A lot changes in a span of time that long. Hell, Plastic hadn’t been invented until 1907, let alone commercialized refrigerators or packaged meat. 

 

You hadn’t been okay with Grillby when you first met him, what made him think that you would be okay with meeting a bunch of people, going out on your own after so long... He pinched the bridge of his nose, glancing out the window again. Would you complete your task, or come back? Based on how you normally act, he assumed you’d fight through and get the groceries, but he wasn’t quite sure. He had to fight everything in his being to stay at home, and not chase you down. He had to admit that he was protective now, and nervous, and that he had gotten used to having your constant company. The house felt different without your presence. 

 

Well. That wasn’t just him missing you. The house  _ was _ different without your presence. He saw the change first hand: The moment you opened that door, he could see your soul change. He could feel the house shift and creak, could see grey wisps appear from the floor (Specifically from the fire-scarred floor), and flow into you, solidifying your soul. Your soul, in turn, no longer wisped and flicked as he remembered, but rather sat in your chest as a normal soul would, with one minor difference. The center of your soul was missing, like a perfect hole, and from where the segment of the soul should be, there was a line of energy instead, leading straight to the scarred ground in the center of the restaurant, like an anchor. For some unexplained reason, it made him jealous. 

 

When you walked out the door, the house seemed to sag, and it felt like it had lost it’s life. It was emptier than he had ever felt a house could be. It unnerved him, made him lonely, and made him worried. 

 

So now, he stood by the window, watching for you, waiting for you. When he saw you, earlier than he expected and with no groceries, his worry only grew, and he quickly headed downstairs. He weaved through the tables, and opened the front door, leaning out to greet you as you reached home. 

 

He stopped when he noticed you with Gerson. Your head was down, submissive, and it made his flames spark in agitation. They only sparked more when Gerson put a hand on your shoulder, and you deflated, head dipping even lower. You looked miserable, and whatever Gerson was saying only made you look worse. 

 

Grillby had had just about enough, and he stepped out of the bar, quickly walking toward you, fists balled. He respected Gerson, but the old turtle had no right to make you look like that. He was in earshot within a few moments, and he stopped when he heard Gerson say your name. You looked up, and Grillby saw your face filled with emotions he had never seen on your face. His heart ached at the heaviness on your face: pain, heart-wrenching sadness, remorse. 

 

“Gerson,” You breathed, and tears poured from your eyes as you threw yourself into the veterans waiting embrace. The turtle wrapped his arms around you, stroking the top of your head and shushing you comfortingly. You wailed, melting into his form as a child would their father, burbling apologies and incoherent sentences. Grillby suddenly realized he was probably seeing something he shouldn’t, and took a slow step back, about to turn around and flee when Gerson’s head turned up, locking eyes with the escaping elemental. His eyes flicked from Grillby to the bar behind him, and then back to Grillby, his lip forming a tight line. His eyes shot down to your form, and then back to Grillby, eyebrows raising. Grillby gave a curt nod, and Gerson’s eyes relaxed. 

 

“______” the old turtle said, and you shifted your head a bit to show him you were listening. “Grillby is here,” He whispered, and your whole body froze up. 

 

Grillby noticed it, and couldn’t help the hurt that shot through his soul. Was he that connected to you already, or was it that you were weeping in the arms of someone else with complete abandon when you could barely even look Grillby in the eyes at first meeting?  His flames deflated as you withdraw yourself from Gerson’s arms, wiping your eyes and sniffling, head once again dipping low. You turned to face Grillby, and his heart ached at your defeated stature. 

 

He wanted to hug you. He wanted to hold you like Gerson, and tell you that everything was alright, that you were safe. He wanted to wipe your tears away and shush you as Gerson did, to console you until you never even  _ thought _ of showing that shamed face to him. Gerson rested a hand on your shoulder, and Grillby couldn’t help but bristle, flames crackling as he looked between the two of you. What was his history? Why was he able to touch you without you recoiling? 

 

“Dear friend,” Gerson spoke to Grillby now as you stayed still, shoulders still tense. “Would you mind if I took your silky for the day? We have some topics to discuss, and over a century of time to catch up on.” Gerson said calmly. Grillby paused, thinking. He looked at your deflated form, and his flames dimmed. You looked defeated. 

 

“No.” he said simply, and your head shot up, looking at Grillby in shock. He argued with himself, saying you were more comfortable at home (Yes. Home. You belonged at home, not at Gerson’s. His home was your home, and you would obviously be more comfortable there). But who was he to say where and where not you could go? He was just worried about you! But...

 

“You are more than welcome to come to my bar though,” Grillby continued, taking a step to the side as if to usher you and Gerson to his bar. “I shall make you a drink, and then leave the two of you be to....” He paused, letting out a huff, “catch up.” He saw you flinch at the last two words. 

 

“Very well,” Gerson said, dropping his hand from your shoulder and walking past Grillby, heading toward the bar. “It would probably be in ____’s best interest to be in her own dwelling anyway.” 

 

Grillby nodded, now proud of his decision. You followed behind, head still drooped. Grillby couldn’t help but place a hand on your shoulder, and you paused, taking everything in your soul to not flinch away. He leaned down, close to your ear, and then paused, wondering what to say. He finally let out a small breath, and spoke. “No matter what your past is,” He paused, mulling over his words, “You still have a place in your home,” His hand tightened, squeezing your shoulder in comfort, “And my heart.” He spoke in surety, knowing now that you did have a place in his heart. You were a close friend now, an irreplaceable companion. His home would not be the same without you there, and he now marked you as one of the few he would put his soul on the line for. Your head raised from its position of submission, and you turned to face him, eyes wide in surprise. He looked away from your face, tilting his head to the side a bit, as if pondering. “Besides, the law states that I cannot fire my employees without due purpose, and I can’t think of a better employee than you.” He nodded, a hand grabbing his chin as he made an exaggerated “Hmm... yup. Sounds like I should give you a raise.” He turned to face you again, your faces nearly an inch apart. “How does cookies with our morning drinks sound?” 

 

You stared at him in amazement for a moment before letting out a snort, and then a giggle, and then a full laugh, tossing your head back a bit. Grillby leaned back in contentment, and you wiped your eyes, giving him a soft smile, “That sounds nice.” You answered quietly, and he placed a hand on your shoulder. 

 

“Let’s go,” he said, voice patient and encouraging. You nodded, and  walked with him back to your home. 

 

Grillby almost missed the silver anchor from your soul to the house quiver. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> grillky.tumblr.com
> 
> Just reminding you ;)
> 
> Sorry for the shorter chapter, but next chapter may be coming out sooner than normal, depending on my brain. I've been sick for the past few days, so I've been having quite a hard time. 
> 
>  
> 
> THIS CHAPTER WAS HARD! I erased and re-wrote half the chapter at LEAST 5 times!


	4. A Wife's Folly?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerson is invited into the bar, and you speak for the first time in 700 years. 
> 
> Your past begins to unravel in front of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *COUGH* *COUGH*  
> grillky.tumblr.com  
> #Grillky on Tumblr :)
> 
> This chapter took FOREVER to write and quite a bit of asking, focusing, crying, thinking, crying some more, questioning friends... like geesh. I am so worn out after this chapter. 
> 
> THEREFORE! If you guys don't like it, I think i may just cry. 
> 
> So there are mentions of violence, but nothing graphic.  
> If how my emotional state oscillated while I was writing it says anything about this chapter, you guys will probably be in for a RIIIIIDDDEEE
> 
> so strap in! Hopefully I answer some questions, and create a bunch more. This is part 1 of Reader's past, which will set us up for the long ride of everything else. 
> 
> AND THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL OF YOUR SUPPORT I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!  
> Your questions, musings, theories, love, criticisms have all warmed my heart so much! I love getting to come home and check my inbox and kudos mark to see if I have any new comments. It fills me with joy! 
> 
> Really guys, you keep me going :)

The bar was welcoming, as always, but that did not stop the lightbulb burning your throat or the balloon inflated in your chest. You sat at the bar for the first time, the old turtle next to you, your flaming roommate standing on the other side of the counter. You couldn’t look at him; you pulled and twisted the front of your shirt, throat dry and eyes downcast. 

 

Sure, Grillby didn’t know how Gerson and you were connected, but you still felt the apprehension slither along the back of your head; you kept your past locked behind iron walls for a reason. It was dark, it was bloody, it had changed you. Most of all, though, it marked you as a failure, a disgrace to your kind, and a disgrace to his entire species. You flinched at the thought, batting away the bloodstained memories before they could taint your facial expressions. 

 

You were pulled from your inner deprecation by the small “tack” of a mug being placed in front of you. Steam rolled off the top, and you leaned over to look at the color. Dirty gold, you recognized it as the first drink Grillby had ever made you; hot apple cider. Your eyes flicked up to meet him, and he gave you a soft nod, hand still on the mug’s handle He pushed it toward you a bit more, and only let go when your hands wrapped around the comforting warmth. You just held it, letting the heat of the cup travel from your hands to your heart, soothing the tight hold on your lungs. You let out a breath, and looked up at Grillby. 

 

“Thank you,” you breathed, and his flames flickered in response. He pulled out another cup and placed it in front of Gerson before dutifully heading toward the kitchen. The moment you saw his back, you could feel panic creep back over your spine, and you choked on your throat again, opening your mouth. You were going to be alone with Gerson, and you knew that you were going to talk about-

 

You couldn’t do this alone. Shame washed over you at your weakness, and your voice croaked out at the same time as Gerson’s. “Grillby,” His voice was much stronger than yours, and the Fire Man stopped, flame shooting up as if slightly startled. He turned around, and you could feel your face begin to heat up. You looked down. Gerson did not. “I believe the silky would feel more comfortable with a third party.” He motioned toward you calmly, and you averted your gaze from down to down and to the side. You answered anyway. 

 

“P-please,” you stuttered out, “Please stay.” You hoped that would be enough to convince your roommate to stay with you.  Grillby’s shoulders relaxed, and he walked back, lifting a glass from behind the counter, and polishing it. You watched the repetitive movement, and found a shaky solace in it. 

 

That is, until the turtle spoke. 

 

“Silky,” He spoke, voice both stern and patient at the same time. You suppressed a flinch at your title, and you straightened your back. You couldn’t look him in the eyes, so you looked at his chin instead. Images flickered through your mind now; you couldn’t stop them in the presence of the man whose life you had forever altered. The thin line of your lips slowly pulled downward until your frown even surprised Grillby in it’s intensity. Your hand tightened around the mug until it was shaking, but no words were spoken. After a while, Gerson spoke up again, “as I said before, no one blames you.” 

 

You huffed softly, disbelieving, and averted your eyes away from both men in front of you. Your title slipped from Gerson’s lips again, and you couldn’t stop the flinch this time. Your eyes quickly shot back to Gerson’s, and you could feel the tears threatening to spill over again. You rebuked them. Memories began overtaking your every thought. Memories you had suppressed for 700 years burst from behind your closely maintained walls, overwhelming you and leaving you frozen in silently screaming agony. 

 

You remembered this town before the dilapidated husks of now. 

 

You remembered the exuberant state your home once existed in. 

 

You remembered the laughter, the tears, the yelling, the consoling, the countless and priceless smiles. 

 

You remembered the irreplaceable family you swore to protect with your life. 

 

You remembered  _ her.  _

 

You remembered defending  _ her _ , locking and sacrificing your body, mind, and soul to endless numbing combat, losing your empathy, your pure hands, all in the name of the hole in your soul that she so valiantly held.

 

You remember the unquantifiable amount of blood you drew for  _ her.  _

You remembered failing. 

 

You remember failing  _ her.  _

 

You remember her dust floating in the air, coating your face in her existence, turning your thin tears into muddy misery. 

 

“I killed her, Gerson.” You said, a self-aimed anger slowly replaced your unease; your voice grew in volume as your shoulders began to shake, “Her dust fell through my fingers,” Your hands shook, and you could feel the chalkiness of her still tainting your fingers. You sucked in a shuddering breath, “how can you not hate me?” You demanded, leaning forward. Your voice was louder now, near yelling but quiet at the same time. It was dangerous, and you could admit that you were scaring even yourself. You did not care, though. You didn’t remove your eyes from Gerson’s, and you swore you could still see the grief in his eyes, the heavy loss that was undeniably all your fault. You had ripped this man from the love of his life, and doomed him to an eternal life of loneliness. 

 

Your voice failed you, and you fell silent, still trying to get words out, but unable. Finally, you fell to a near-whisper, “I killed your  _ wife _ , Gerson...” Your shoulders shook, and you could feel the anger, the shame, the hatred, the gallons of blood resting on your shoulders, and the dust forever ingrained in your face. “I killed her,” you whispered, eyes finally releasing their gaze from Gerson’s. You could feel Grillby’s gaze on you, and you couldn’t decide which emotion was more powerful: your wish for him to be gone, to never hear of this side of you, your sick pleasure in punishing yourself by breaking the trust of the one person you’ve begun to trust in over a century and a half, or the simple but crushing shame of sitting in front of these men, sins nude in the air. 

 

700 years after the incriminating act, and Karma finally caught up with you. You shivered, the empathy you had lost so long ago returning in one devastating tsunami. Just as fast as your anger erupted from you, it snapped, and you dropped your head, hunching in defeat. 

 

“I’m sorry,” you cried, watching your tears hitting the wood floor so far below. You felt a rough hand rest itself on the top of your head, and the soft voice that accompanied it. “____. It’s been 700 years.” The hand brushed over your head as a father would his child, and, for the moment, you accepted his consoling. “I have had plenty of time to grieve.” He said quietly, voice laced with sad wisdom. “I did, for a time, blame you,” he said, and whatever weight his consoling hand had lifted dropped onto your shoulders once more. You could hear a rapid crackling, and you tilted your head to the side. 

 

Right. Grillby was still here. His flames flickered as if agitated, but they quickly stilled when he noticed your glance. His face turned toward you, flames calming to a dull campfire crackle. It was calming; your heartbeat ceased pounding in your throat, and the pressure in your chest seemed to alleviate, if only a little. His hands continued to polish the glass in his grasp; you guessed it was more for the motion than for the need. His hands, though, seemed less relaxed, as if he were itching to do something else. 

 

“It was nearly impossible  _ not _ to, dear.” Gerson continued, and you were pulled from your distracting muses to face the hard reality in front of you. “My wife died,” you flinched, “many other friends were soon to follow, civilians died, communities destroyed. We were driven from our homes to the cold and dark underground, and then trapped there for what seemed like it was going to be forever.” His voice sounded remorseful, pained, laced with anger. 

 

“And you were nowhere to be seen.” He accused you, and you shrunk. “We all stumbled into the cold darkness together, huddling for warmth and stability. We were trapped,” He paused, voice clipping, “and you....” He spoke in a flat voice, a low and menacing whisper, “Your hands are more stained than the all of us, but you were not there.” You expected him to be angry, to lash out at you, to atone you for your sins. The silence, though, you were not expecting. 

 

It set you on edge. 

 

“I could not stop my animosity toward you, I admit,” He took a sip of his drink, letting out a breath as the cup left his lips, “I blamed you for everything.” He looked up at the ceiling, holding the mug in both his hands now. “For Gosren, for the loss of the Mt. Ebbot base of operations, for the loss of the war...” You had found a crack in the floor, and bore a hole into it with your eyes. 

 

You jumped when you heard the old turtle chuckle, the tension in his voice releasing. “How naive I was, back then.” He stopped talking. The silence stretched on, broken only by the soft crackle of the observing party. You slowly looked away from the crack in the ground, and finally locked eyes with the mug in Gerson’s hand. His fingers tapped it rhythmically, the tick teck tack loud enough for you to hear the difference between each finger’s individual sound. 

 

You could see in your peripherals exactly when Gerson’s head dropped from looking at the ceiling, and you looked up to meet his gaze. He had the smallest smile you had ever seen. “We were doomed no matter what, _____.” He said, placing the now emptied mug back onto the counter. “They were too strong. You were a last defence that was bound to be defeated.” 

 

He looked to the side, running a finger over the rim of the mug. You glanced at your own mug for a brief moment; the golden liquid had gone cold a while ago, small cinnamon particles settling on the bottom of the cup. You were torn away from your observations yet again by Gerson’s laugh, this time one heavy, sad huff of breath. “If anything, it was Gosren’s folly for letting you Tie to her.” 

 

You froze. 

 

__________________________________

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

__________________________________

 

You were young back then. Maybe only a couple of hundred years, living in the town where you originated. Born of a bit of magic and the feeling of accomplishment after finishing a chore, you were hopeful, happy, and ready to pick out a home you could call your own. You could feel your magic changing; You were no longer a guppie tied to the house you were created in, but a Silky ready to find their OWN dwelling with their OWN family. 

 

You were filled with determination! 

 

So you began your search. You travelled far and wide, as fast and excitedly as you could. You slipped from one shadow to another easier than night and day eternally chasing each other. You would stop in one town, searching for a home, and skitter away with the rising sun when the town did not reach your fancy. 

 

You learned you were not the biggest fan of humans. They were mean to their neighbors, and you often found streets and homes much dustier than you’d like. So you kept moving. Other towns you found to be completely obliterated, the remnants of hate leaving its forever scar on what once was beautiful land. Whole neighborhoods were coated in dust, or burned to the ground. You passed by these quickly, solemnly, moving onto the next town, searching for one with happy families. 

 

Finally, you had found one. It was a small town, you admit, but it was quaint.  You had picked little house on the corner, with a cute little roof and the most sublime windows you had ever seen. The owner of the house was kind, and when you greeted her (which wasn’t really customary but hey! You’re new to this! Plus, you were always one to break rules!), she returned the kindness easily. She opened her house to you, and you offered your services in return, just as you had always hoped for! 

 

She was a beautiful woman, you had to admit. Young, you thought, but never really asked. She was a turtle, a shell hard enough to shield her from the wicked of the land, but eyes that held all the kindness of the world. You remembered her words of nearly every day, they sang in your heart of peace and happiness. 

 

“Dear, come get some breakfast! You must be tired from working all night!” She called from downstairs, and you quickly obliged, leaving the floors to be properly scrubbed for later. You bounded down the stairs and through the kitchen, reaching the downstairs room in only moments. The two of you were mainly alone, so instead of a giant dining room, you had two stools next to the deep-set window-sill. You sat with her as she handed you a plate of breakfast: thick homemade bread with fresh butter and a fried egg. Your favorite. You gave her a beaming smile, and placed the plate on the sill, waiting for her to join you before you dug in. 

 

“I still don’t know how you can make such perfect churned butter,” she accused you, looking at the creaminess on her bread with scrutinizing eyes. You let out a pealing laugh. 

 

“It’s magic, Gosren!” You teased, taking a bite out of your bread. “Any household chore you try to do, I can  _ guarantee _ I can do it better! You know this already!” 

 

“Still amazes me,” She mused, taking a bite. “My magic is so simplistic compared to yours.” another bite, and a humm from you for her to continue, “Just a hard shell and a bit of defense. Useless for everyday living.” She complained now, making you mockingly pat her on the side of her shell. 

 

“Gosren,” You grew serious for a moment, “your magic will come in handy one day. I’m sure.” You gave her a reassuring smile, omitting the hate you had already seen in your travels. She gave you a peaceful smile, and you finished your breakfast. 

 

Life with Gosren was sublime. The two of you fit together with utmost ease and joy. You understood each other's needs, each other’s humor, each other’s interests. She knitted blankets to sell in the market, you tasseled them, both of you talking and laughing easily. You went to the market with her, and the two of you hollered and smiled and sold to your heart's delight. 

 

When Gosren, one day, ran face first into who you would soon know as Gerson, you were ecstatic to listen to her spout her excitement over meeting him. Normally it was you who was the excited one, so being able to sit back and listen to her rave about the handsome man she met as she waved her arms around in wild circles filled you with immense joy. 

 

You were there with her for every step of the way. You helped pick out the outfit for the first date. You watched from the shadows the entire time (per her request). You sat and listened to her jitter and squeal about his gentleman behavior. You prepared dinner for both of them on more than one occasion, and acted as their own personal server through many a romantic night. You watched the house when they went on a three day trip for their 5 month anniversary. You welcomed him as a regular constant in your abode, visiting nearly every day and joining your in little family’s joy. You watched the house when they went on a trip for their year anniversary. 

 

You still remembered the day Gerson came to you, nerves obviously eating him away as he shuffled and spluttered, attempting to ask you what Gosren would like in an engagement ring (You told him she wouldn’t care if he got her a shined piece of dung on a string, as long as it held the same words behind it. He had floundered even more, and complained until you laughed out a real answer. Olivine.)  

 

You were the only guest on Gosren’s side of the wedding. 

 

You were never jealous of the couple. There was nothing to be jealous  _ of.  _ You could admit that you loved Gosren, but it was in no way romantic. You could argue that you loved Gerson almost as much (no you couldn’t, but you did love the guy quite a bit). You wanted all the best for her, in the way she wanted the best for you. You wanted to see her happy to the end of days, to be with her until you both faded away. And when you spoke with her, she shared the same sentiment. Gerson, being the wonderful man he was, understood your relationship completely. The three of you were emotionally inseparable. 

 

It was only when War whispered through the streets that you two had spoken of Tying. She had asked what it was, and you did not hesitate to answer. 

 

You told her that a silky could be bound in three different ways. One, you explained, was a simple bind by living. A Silky chose a house, and lived in it. No real binding aspects, but also no power behind it. 

 

The second, you said next, was called a Tie. It was, you warned her, more permanent than a marriage, and it threatened to remove your freedom entirely. You told her that you could tie to a member of a household, and your soul would be forever entangled with theirs. This entanglement held a few purposes including finality of a silky’s dwelling and a promise from both host and Silky of connection for life. The main purpose for the tie, though, was for Power. 

 

You explained to her that if a silky were tied to a host, as long as the host was still alive, and the host  _ and  _ house were in imminent danger, then the silky would gain  _ immense _ power. When she asked what immense meant, you had shrugged. You were not sure just how much power a silky got, but you knew it was not a number to be trifled with. You explained that it was exponential. Silky power was already drawn from their soul, but with a Tie, they could draw upon the inherent magic of the Host, and the ambient energy of the home as well. Her eyes had grown wide at that, and only shortly after, it contorted into worry. 

 

“What’s the catch.” She flatlined, and you grimaced. 

 

“The catch is the third bind a Silky can have.” You said, scratching the back of your head. “If the host of a Tie pair dies, the missing chunk of the Silky’s soul is then tied to the house rather than the host.” 

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“We lose our immense power, we lose at least 90% of our intangibility, and we lose our shadows.” you paused, “On top of that, we are locked in the dwelling. We cannot go outside the doors for any reason. Our home... the home where our Tie previously lived, becomes our own eternal cage.” 

 

Gosren had gasped at that, and your heart panged at her empathy. You loved this woman. “Is it reversible?” 

 

“Only with a second Tie, but a Tie partner is hard to find. You have to find someone you’re completely compatible with, and even if that’s in your favor, It takes a long time to gain the emotional attachment needed for a Tie.” 

 

“Attachment?” 

 

“I have to be ready to accept a fate worse than death for you.” You had looked her straight in the face here, reaching out and grasping her hand. “If I have even one mustard seed of doubt, the Tie will not work.” 

 

Gosren understood almost immediately. “You have to love me,” she whispered, and you tightened your hands over hers. 

 

“Good thing I already do.”  

  
  
  


Gerson was not hard to convince. Protection for his home, protection for his wife, and protection for the child both turtles were planning on having soon. There was, in his book, no downside. When Gosren mentioned the negatives of the Tie, Gerson had just belted a hearty laugh. 

“Do you think _____ would let any harm come to you, dear?” Gerson had bellowed, wrapping Gosren up in a tight hug. “That silky is more protective of you than your own husband! And that’s saying something!” He tucked his head into her neck, and gave her quick pecks where her neck met her shell until she was giggling and pushing him away with “it tickles! It tickles!” You laughed as she pulled away, calling for you to help her, and gasping in betrayal when you raised your hands in neutrality. Gosren laughed even louder, finally pulling away from Gerson with one last giggle, and nearly stumbling to the floor. She caught herself with a stumbling foot, and stood straight, face steely. 

 

“Alright then!” She clutched her bicep with her other hand, flexing for you with a giant grin. She was wonderful. “How does this Tie work?” 

 

You smiled wide. “2 possible ways,” you explained, “One, you must feel exactly the same intensity of emotions toward me, at exactly the same time, in the house, during a dangerous situation.” 

 

“...... that sounds very specific.” 

 

You shrugged, a smile touching your lips. “It’s a defense mechanism. It’s not supposed to happen that way, but it allows for a quick tie in a bind.” 

 

“Ah. So why did you tell me it?” 

 

“To freak you out.” You winked, and she rolled her eyes. You huffed a laugh. 

 

“You have to agree to it.” you continued,  and she paused, cocking her head to the side. 

 

“That’s it?” she deflated a bit, voice obviously disappointed, as if she were expecting a giant ceremony like a marriage. 

 

“Yeah pretty much. What, did you want me to get on one knee?”

 

“I take offense to that,” Gerson had chimed in with a faux frown, and Gosren laughed. 

 

“Oh baby, you know you’re the only love for me,” Gosren coo’ed to her husband, and you smirked. 

 

“ _ I  _ take offense to that.” You chimed in, and the woman turned to face you with wide eyes. 

 

“I love you too!” She wailed, stuck between both your and Gerson’s teasing. After both you and your partner in crime stopped laughing, Gosren gave you both a pointed look. 

 

“You done?” You nodded. 

 

“Alright then!” She puffed out her chest, and gave you the biggest grin you had ever seen. “I”m going to try and make this cooler than just saying ‘I do,’ so... ____!” She exclaimed, and you laughed, tempted to salute at her. Instead, you just smiled. Her chest fell a bit as she relaxed, a  softness overtaking her expression. 

 

“You are my most important friend,” she started, and your heart clenched. “You’ve always been there for me. In the middle of the night, in the burning hot day, whether I’m happy or sad.” You looked her in the eyes, and they glimmered in yet-to-fall tears. You held your breath as you listened. “You are more than a best friend... More than a sister. I don’t know how I could live without you.” The tears spilled over for both of you, and it took all your self control to not tackle her into a hug. 

 

“I don’t want to live without you,” She continued, and began kneeling. You choked, and blubbered out tears. 

 

“No no no don’t do that c’mon!” You reached forward, pulling her straight again. “This isn’t a proposal!” You could hear Gerson belting out laughter again, and Gosren seemed to stumble over her momentum. 

 

“But This is a tie for life! It’s important!” 

 

“Yes, but we’re not getting  _ married!”  _ You were blushing now, shooting evil glares at Gerson as he snorted and chortled. 

 

“Well what am I  _ supposed _ to do? This is serious!” She wailed, arms tossed into the air. 

 

“I don’t know,” Your voice cracked, you were laughing now, tears still streaming happily down your face. “Not that?” 

 

“Fine! Fine!” She exclaimed, thrusting her arms to her hips and pouting. “_____, will you Tie to me?” She blabbed snarkily, but the meaning was understood. 

 

Oh how it was understood. 

 

Your soul popped from your chest immediately, a dull grey as always, but burning white hot in the center. The room lit up and fell silent, all eyes on the gleaming heart between you and Gosren. It pulsed, light spreading and ebbing and  _ living _ , and you felt it. Your emotions, your life, your very  _ being _ thrummed with each pulse, pulling you toward the woman in front of you. You knew, without an inkling of a doubt, that you would die for her. You would do everything in your power to make her happy, to give her the best life she could possibly have. 

 

The white hot center collapsed on itself, leaving a giant hole in your soul for only a blink of a moment before the light returned, now not a piece of your soul but rather a tether shooting toward Gosren faster than any of you could react, piercing her through the chest. She let out a gasp. 

 

“Oh my god,” she breathed out, amazed. Her eyes flicked from the tether to your eyes. “I can... I can  _ feel  _ you!” She exclaimed, mouth parted in shock. “I can feel your emotions, your feelings, your magic!” She was breathless, looking at you in a way you had never seen before. Her eyes were wide, disbelieving, amazed. You looked down, face lighting up in embarrassment. 

 

“I’m sorry, we can share emotions through the Tie... It’s normally only by choice, but I can't really control it right now,” you laughed, heart lighter than it had ever been before. 

 

“This is amazing,” She let out a laugh, “YOU’RE amazing!” She bounded forward, pulling you into a hug. 

 

You could feel her joy. You could feel her confidence, her surety in her choices. You could  _ taste _ her wisdom, her outlook on life. It was like you were personally tied to the very essence that was  _ her _ . 

 

And for the first time in your life, you felt complete.

  
  
  
  
  


“I won’t be gone long,” He had assured both of you, but his face told a different story. You both knew this might be the last time you would see him. Gosren held him tight as he stood at the threshold, tears streaming down her face. You sat on your windowsill, waiting patiently. Gosren released him, and looked up to his solemn face. He gave her a sad smile, and wiped her tears away. “My dear,” he spoke softly, “I promise you, I will not die.” 

 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” She murmured, staring at the ground. With a finger under her chin, Gerson lifted her eyes to him again. He kissed her, and even you could feel the love, the fear, the despair, the reluctance all tied into that one kiss. You had difficulty containing your own tears. 

 

They parted, and Gerson called your name. You looked up, and hopped from your sill, walking to your close friend. He placed a hand on your shoulder, and you straightened your back, meeting his eyes. You shared a steely nod. “You take care of her, ya’ hear?” 

 

You nodded, touching the center of your chest, “My freedom for her life.” 

 

Both Gosren and Gerson knew what you meant, and shared a smile. 

 

“I know I can trust you,” Gerson smiled, and then stepped through the threshold, grasping his shield and hammer before turning back to his family. “I will return,” He said simply, and then turned, walking down the dark street to join the waiting army. 

 

The house felt empty without his hearty chortles and snarky jokes. 

  
  
  
  


It had been at least 4 months of living letter by letter when the royal mail came with a new face. 

 

You were shocked to open the door one day to see the solemn face of King Asgore himself. He nodded at you, eyes tired.

 

“Silky,” He said simply, and you bowed, letting him into the house. Gosren, who had been behind the counter cooking, looked just as surprised when the towering man of a king entered through the wooden frame. She gasped, dropping her spoon, eyes wide. 

 

“No...” the tears were already brimming when Asgore interrupted. 

 

“Your husband is not dead,” He said simply, and both you and Gosren released the breath you had been holding. 

 

“Then,” Gosren paused, hesitating. “Why are you here, Your Majesty?” 

 

“My dear,” Asgore addressed your Tie, “We are in need of your assistance.”

 

“Mine?” She looked shocked, covering her heart with a hand. 

 

“Yes ma’am,” Asgore spoke softly, “The Base of Operations has been attacked, and we have lost our safe house.” He tugged at his own fingers, eyes downcast in what seemed to be hesitance. A small idea pricked in your head, and you did not like what it was implying. Your shoulders tensed. “We were been searching for a new, safer place to create a new Base, but we have yet to find a home that could properly defend itself from Human attack....” He trailed off, glancing over at you. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck prickle, and bile churn in the back of your throat. You knew why he was here. 

 

“We heard-”

 

“You heard that Gosren was Tied to a silky,” You interjected flatly, venom licking your words. The sight of Asgore wincing only confirmed your suspicion. 

 

“Well, yes...” He walked on eggshells, shifting from one foot to the other. “We did. With this information, we thought it may be advantageous if we spoke with you, Gosren...” 

 

“Why,” She spoke softly, hesitantly. You could feel her apprehension tugging at your heart, could feel her worry at Asgores next words. She glanced at you, eyes widening at your cold expression. 

 

“We feel it would be best for Monster Kind if we set up the Base of Operations in your home,” Asgore’s words were laced with diplomatic respect, but it made no difference for you. 

 

“You want to use me as your personal bodyguard!” You spat, disgusted. Here, the King of Monsters, came asking to invade YOUR home, put YOUR tie in danger, and risk YOUR house for his own protection! 

 

“No no!” Asgore whipped around to face you now, hands raised in surrender. “We need a safe place to store our plans and protect our valuable military personnel!” 

 

“You mean you!” You shouted, taking a step toward him, shaking in anger. He retreated a step, and it filled you with a sickening pleasure. “You have already taken one of my family, and now you want to take my HOME as well?” You accused him, taking another step forward. 

 

“I-It would be for the benefit of all Monster Kind!” He stumbled out; you advanced on him more. “It could save thousands of Monster Lives!” 

 

“This is MY home! You have NO right to waltz in here and dema-”

 

“_____.” Gosren’s soft but stern voice cut you off, her seriousness pulling your tether taunt. You froze, falling silent. “Asgore has a point,” She said simply, and you took a sharp breath in, spinning to face her. 

 

“But Gosren! This is my-”

 

“Our, _____, it’s Our home.” She stepped from behind the counter, eyes firm. “And Gerson’s. And Gerson wouldn’t hesitate to offer up his home for the good of Monster kin-”

 

“Gerson wouldn’t want this!” You interjected desperately, breathing heavily. “Gerson wants you safe!” 

 

“Gerson would put the survival of an entire race over the safety of his wife,” Gosren’s eyes bore into your soul, and you shrunk, chest burning. 

 

“He wants to  _ use _ me, Gosren,” You hissed, betrayal coursing through your veins. 

 

“He’s already using Gerson, maybe it’s our turn to help as well.” She said simply, and you exploded. 

 

“ _ It’s not my job to help! It’s my job to keep you safe!”  _ You screeched, feeling your magic swell inside you. Your form wisped around the edges, black and menacing, causing both turtle and goat to retreat. You towered over their souls, breathing heavily. “I cannot allow thi-”

 

“Please, _____!” Gosren interrupted you, and you froze, air caught in your throat. She sounded so... desperate.... “If they were here, I would know where Gerson is at all times!” She was crying now, and you retreated. “ _ We _ would know if he was okay. And he would  _ visit _ here, _____!” 

 

She fell silent, turning her head away from you, tears falling down her face. “If we lose this war, we’ll all die,” she whispered. Your shoulders sagged as you looked at her. You missed Gerson too, but he was not your husband. Your Tie had lost her husband; he was out there somewhere, and Asgore had just given her a way to not only help secure his safety, but to also see him again. 

 

You....

 

You couldn’t take that away from her. 

 

Your aggressive posture dropped away, head dropping. You walked to the window-sill, dropping onto it, defeated.  “I’m sorry,” you murmured, resting your elbows on your legs, head in your hands. “Gosren, you do know what Asgore is asking of me, right?” 

 

Gosren nodded. Your heart panged, and you let out a heavy breath. “Then fine. You can use this house.” 

 

“Silky, I thank you on beha-”

 

“BUT!” you interjected, shooting a finger in Asgore’s direction. “If Gosren is ever in any danger, she is first priority, understood?” 

 

“__-” Gosren began. 

 

“Understood.” Asgore interrupted her, walking toward you with purpose. He held out his hand, and as you shook it, you felt like you had just sealed your fate. 

 

______________

______________

 

The personnel moved in quickly; the upstairs was commandeered by round tables, maps, letters, and countless visitors. Gosren had become a sort of house-wife for these military men, and you only allowed it because it seemed to make her happy. They were all respectful, both to you and to her. 

 

Nothing happened for the longest time. Months had passed with not one attack, and your worries began to fade away, if only a little. 

 

That made the first attack all the more difficult. 

 

It was a group of 5, you remembered each of their faces. Three men and two women, ranging from... you didn’t know human ages very well, but all of them looked too young to be fighting in a war. They had glimmering armor, perfectly polished swords, and an arrogance about them that twisted your stomach. 

 

You were sure they didn’t know what they had stumbled on, with the way they so easily chittered and jeered. You tried to warn them. You started calm, asking them to leave. When they didn’t, you warned them. When they laughed in your face, you begged them. you saw one or two faces flash regret, and you took hope in them, begging again. 

 

The first sword across your face stung much more than you thought it would. Seeing your own blood for the first time sent panic through your body, and you stayed on the ground, shaking. You heard the young group arguing with each other, one male and one female outcrying against hurting someone who looked  _ human _ as you did. The other three spat obscenities at them, and you felt armored legs connect with your side. 

 

When they passed you, walking toward the house, you reached out and grabbed one of their legs, whispering “Please,” hoping they would listen. They shook you off. 

 

When you heard them slam their shoulder into the door, though, you could not beg anymore. Your house in danger now, you felt power surge through you. 

 

You were on your feet in moments. 3 of the 5 were down in moments, the other two running away in fear, swords dropped at your feet. 

 

Wobbly and scared, you stumbled back into the house, unsure if you were sweaty because of your now tainted hands, or because of the exertion of... murdering... three people... You were sure it was the former, as snapping their necks was easier than snapping a very thin toothpick. 

 

That thought made you sick to your stomach, and you keeled over the moment you entered the house, emptying your stomach on the floor. You shook, tears in your eyes as you hugged yourself. It only took a few moments for Gosren to be by your side, holding you by the shoulders and shushing you. You leaned into her as she rubbed your back, and let her lead you slowly upstairs. You were halfway up the stairs when you could hear the voices of the inhabitants of your house. 

 

“The Iron Hammer will take care of the south cities, as that is the largest concern.  lieutenant  Hellfire will command the two battalions to the North and East. We have to strike them the hardest. Hopefully, we could turn the tide with a few burnt down cities under Hellfire’s belt.” 

 

Burnt cities. Your stomach churned again, and you couldn’t stop the second wave leave your mouth, spilling over the stairs. It soaked into the carpet, and you couldn’t keep in the wailing shout that erupted from your lips. You collapsed onto the stairs, swinging your fists through the air and slamming them onto the closest step. 

 

The slamming sound that resulted from your violence dropped the voices upstairs to silence. You breathed slowly, tears dripping onto the stairs. You stayed like that for quite a while, Gosren slowly stroking your back. Finally, you stood, waving a hand over the stairs. Your mess was quickly cleaned up. You began walking the rest of the way up the stairs. 

 

When you stepped on the stair that your fist had slammed into, it squeaked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cough* 
> 
> I'M SORRY! 
> 
> It had to be done. I know it's not really focusing on Grillby right now, but I've got to get this part out so the plot can head forward. 
> 
> Please be ready for more angst in the following chapter or two. Probably just one. Hopefully just one. 
> 
> God, I hope it's just one. I'm tearing apart MY OWN heart... 
> 
> ALSO if anyone drew Gosren or Gerson, OR GOSREN AND GERSON TOGETHER I would be ecstatic!!! 
> 
> Gerson deserves a wife. Also, when I was writing Gosren, I couldn't help but think of Tiana from Princess in the Frog. Did anyone else see that, or am I just crazy?
> 
> grillky.tumblr.com  
> #grillky  
> SHAMELESS SELF ADVERTISING


	5. Snap.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War slowly gets to you, and you rely on Gosren's existence to keep yourself sane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING FOR BLOOD AND GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE PLEASE SKIP the text between the +’s. Read the summary after the +’s to get the dealio. 
> 
> NO SERIOUSLY IT GETS BAD PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION. 
> 
> BUT IT'S ALSO IMPORTANT SO IF YOU HAVE A POOR STOMACH PLEASE READ THE NOTES AT THE END
> 
>  
> 
> Grillky.tumblr.com
> 
> I'd really love some love after this chapter.

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You were shaking. Quivering, head in hands, kneeling on the ground. 

 

They were so  _ young _ , barely touching 18 if you guessed. Why were the humans sending such  _ young _ people to attack the base of operations? 

 

You didn’t dare open your eyes, didn’t dare look at the red you had spilled onto the ground outside your house. 

 

You tried to beg for them to leave. They did not oblige. You warned them. They laughed. 

 

You  _ tried  _ to make their deaths as painless as possible. A quick snap of the neck, or a beheading if that didn’t work. Anything for it to be instantaneous. 

 

But they... They were so  _ inexperienced! _ You weren’t experienced either, but at least you didn’t go waving around sharp objects near allies...They didn’t know how to wield their own swords! You had dodged one’s thrusting blade, only to hear it slide into their comrade’s chest. You whipped around to see the injured kids panicked face, looking down at the sword hilted in his chest. He began to scream, and fell to the ground, his attack-ee releasing the sword in shock. 

 

You pulled the sword from the kid’s chest, and cut his head off. 

 

The other kid ran away. You let him, dropping to your knees and squeezing your eyes shut. 

 

You kept telling yourself that you had to do this for Gosren. 

 

___________

~~~~~~~~~~~

You stayed inside most of the time, sticking close to Gosren. With her around, you could be happy. You could ignore your blood-stained hands, if just for her smile. She cooked for the generals, and you were always happy to help. The two of you danced around the kitchen like a well-oiled machine, making dishes that always drew the hardened war-heroes from their planning to poke their head curiously into the kitchen. Gosren always laughed at the sight of both Asgore and Toriel, fully clad in royal garb, shyly standing in the door-frame, noses twitching at the smells flowing from the oven. 

Toriel taught Gosren how to make butterscotch pie. 

Gosren returned the favor by showing her cinnamon pie. 

Asgore suggested putting them together. You smiled as Gosren and Toriel laughed at Asgore, but let their faces twist into curiosity. The resulting pie was good, but not quite delicious. Toriel promised to keep working until it was divine. 

The war room was always bustling. Sometimes, when you weren’t sticking near the windows to watch for invaders, you examined the table laid out in your old living room. It looked like an over-complicated chess board, but you soon began to notice patterns. The red chess piece was Hellfire. Wherever that piece went, other chesspieces, the black ones, seemed to fall like rain. The piece both you and Gosren watched, the green one, seemed to follow the same pattern, but it moved slower, and was met with more trepidation. You could literally  _ feel _ Gosren’s worry when Gerson’s piece was surrounded, and her palpaple relief when he escaped. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

___________

 

The kid who ran away came back with a small army. A small army of kids just as young as him, but when you looked at the 6 figures arrogantly marching toward you, your stomach rolled. 

 

They thought strength came in numbers. 

 

You knew they were wrong, at least in this case. 6 inexperienced kids just meant 5 more allies’ attacks to dodge. 

 

When they reached you, you begged them to leave, just as you did your first and second encounters. Just like the first and second encounters, they did not even blink. You warned them. They did not think twice before charging toward your home. 

 

You swung under one blade, juked another, blocked a third. They were like wild animals biting at too-quick prey. You couldn’t explain your own expertise at dodging them, but it came like breathing. It was as tiring as breathing as well. 

 

You didn’t have sharp objects, so you opted to steal one of their swords. After obtaining one, you quickly went about beheading them. It was only once all 6 of them lay at your feet that the metal felt hot on your skin. You dropped it like fire, and finally looked at the carnage you had wreaked. 

 

It was just as gut-wrenching as the first time, but you continued chanting your mantra. 

 

Gosren. 

 

______________

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You visited Gosren less, ashamed of your blood-covered hands. You spent more time in the war-room, staring blankly at the board. The white pieces, led by the large red one, seemed to be gaining at least a little purchase on the board. It gave you an inkling of hope, but did nothing for the guilt-filled lump in your throat. 

 

Gosren came into the war room often, to speak with you and to find Gerson on the board. You found her leaning against you for support rather often, and you tentatively placed your arms around her, feeling sick that you could touch the one you loved with hands so sullied.  Every time you wrapped your hands around her though, you could tell yourself that your sins were worth it. 

 

One day, when overlooking the war-board, Asgore had approached you. You didn’t let him get within 4 feet of you without giving him a wicked glare, so he stopped at a respectable distance. You acknowledged him with a curt nod, and he cleared his throat. “Garrison,” He spoke softly, and your eyes flicked to him. He shifted. “We respect you, Silky. And, ah,” He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small trinket, “Since you have done so much for us, and the war has continued because of you... We made you a board piece.” 

 

You stared at the trinket. It was grey and wispy, less humanoid and more elemental. Like wind tied to a--you paused, stepping forward and taking the trinket from his hands, looking at it closer. There, inside the wisping grey, there was a perfect carving of Gosren, kneeling in prayer. You felt a prickle of tears before you shoo’ed them away, and looked back to Asgore. He gave you an unsure smile, and you returned it, if only a bit. “Thank you,” You said softly, and then looked at the board. Near the bottom right was a dark red spot; the base of operations, and your home. You placed your piece in front of it, turning it outward to face the world. “Hah...” You felt your heart drop. “Now I can clear the area of the black pieces as Hellfire does,” You darkly joked, bringing your finger to a black piece near your home, and tipping it over. You wondered for a moment if the General from hell felt the same self-hatred that you did. You wondered if he couldn’t look at his hands without wanting to wash them till they no longer existed. 

 

“Do you look up to him?” Asgore asked, reaching out and plucking the fiery piece from the table. He handed the piece to you, and you took it tentatively. It was beautiful, a swirling piece of red and orange and blue. It spelled grace, but also destruction. You noticed it was much more humanoid than yours was; you could see the outline of a person, clad in dark armor, standing at attention. Flames licked off their head, and from their soldiers. If you looked at the blade he wielded, you could almost swear it was made of only fire. You ran your fingers over the front of the piece, a thumb brushing over the small shoulder. Did you look up to this man? 

 

“Maybe,” You spoke slowly, placing the piece back. “I don’t understand how he can continue on so firmly; it’s hard to keep myself going with all this blood on my hands...” 

 

“You could write to him, you know.” Asgore spoke softly, looking over the board, almost pensieve. “He is not as composed as you seem to believe. Maybe having someone to speak with would help him?” 

 

“Hmm... I’ll think about it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

______________

The fourth, fifth, and sixth time were nearly identical to the third, albeit with more kids. You begged, you warned. They attacked. 

______________

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You only saw Gosren during meals. Gosren was still happy to see you, and you began to question why. You were horrible. You were sick. But... You loved her, and she loved you. That’s what mattered. That’s what you were doing this for. 

 

But she couldn’t understand you. But maybe someone could? 

 

“Asgore.”

“Mmm?” 

 

“I would like to write to Hellfire, if you would let me.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

______________

 

By the sixth time, you stopped stealing swords, and just resorted to ripping heads off. You found it rather easy to morph your dainty hands into deadly claws when your home was in danger. 

 

You still felt sick by the end.

 

Gosren. Gosren. Gosren. 

 

You made a bonfire to burn the bodies. 

 

______________

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hellfire,

I was told I could send you a letter. I am a silky who has been named Garrison by King Asgore for my duties as the Base of operat-

 

You scratched it out. 

 

Hellfire, 

I am Garrison, Defender of the Base of Operations, and watcher of the Generals...

 

No no no no. 

 

Hellfire,

I am Garrison. I have been told I may send you a letter in order to speak with you about---

 

Fuckin’

 

Hellfire,

Does it hurt? Do you feel the weight of every kill on your hands? How do you keep going? I don’t know if I can keep going any longer....

-Garrison. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

______________

 

The seventh time, the Humans seemed to get a hint, and sent two older soldiers; they looked trained, holding their swords in an actual stance, and eyeing you with an intensity that could have made chills ride down your spine. 

 

The chills did not come though; you were too busy staring them down as well. Would this be harder? Would you fail? Up until now, everything seemed easy. The kids that you battled never made you break a sweat. You were never sure just how powerful you were, though. This Silky-Protecting-The-Home had to have a limit, right? 

 

Right? 

 

You begged, as usual, and they did not react. As usual. You warned, as usual. As usual, As usual, As usual. It raked on your nerves. 

 

They attacked you at the same time, weaving in and out of each other’s weak spots, blades sharp and precise as they defended and attacked at the same time. You ducked, dodged, slid, juked away from their blows, your head buzzing as adrenaline began coursing through your veins. 

 

You were thrilled! This was at least getting your heart rate up! Finally, something at least  _ slightly _ good came from this. 

 

But good things could only last so long; when you had backed up enough for your foot to hit the door of your home, you felt a surge of instincts rage at you to take them down. You felt yourself reacting to the call, and a sound escaped your lips. It made the men halt their advance, and you took that chance to lung forward and strike. 

 

Your hand was fully inside the closer man’s chest, tilted upward and grabbing onto something when they realized you had even moved. The second man reacted, swinging at you, and you jumped back, hand slick with blood and whatever you had grabbed while you explored the first man’s chest cavity. The first man’s screaming voice was the background as you dodged the second’s advances. You easily trotted backward, drawing the man away from your home before you swung at him, using the object you had just received to swipe across the man’s chest. Although it wasn’t a sharp object, it did it’s job, sending the man falling to the ground. It was only when his screeching voice had halved in volume that you came to from your adrenaline rush, and looked at the object in your hand. 

 

It was a rib. You had just pulled a rib out of one man, and used it to kill another. Your stomach immediately grew queasy, and you quickly dropped the rib. 

 

You did not let yourself puke, instead chanting your mantra. 

 

Gosren. Gosren. Gosren. 

 

This was all for Gosren. 

 

You couldn’t help but think of the thrill of an increased heart-beat though. 

 

The bonfire’s size was smaller than usual that night. You kept the rib. 

 

_______________

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You pointedly avoided Gosren now, unable to look her in the eyes. When you did though, she always smiled. You couldn’t return it anymore. Dinner, the only meal you ate now, was filled with conversation on her side, and you happily listened. When she asked you of your day, though, you fell silent. She dropped it. 

 

Everyone called you Garrison now, and looked at you with respect. You couldn’t help the pride that came with it. 

 

You got a letter from Hellfire. 

 

Garrison,

Yes. Yes. Sometimes, I wonder how my hands can still burn with how soaked they are. My flames have never been so dim. I fear I may go out if this war goes on much longer. 

I stay fighting because I no longer know anything else. 

-Hellfire

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_______________

 

Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven followed the same suit. You found yourself revelling in the adrenaline, killing with your hands and spilling blood much more than before, and then feeling horrid once you looked at the bodies surrounding you. 

 

You no longer begged. Your warning was met with minor hesitation. It made you proud. 

 

Twelve, though, and you were growing tired. Not tired in the physical sense, but in the mental sense. 

 

“Dodging is so  _ boring _ !” your mind complained, and you hushed it, telling yourself that getting hurt would not be any more fun. “Well you could just  _ stop _ dodging and see,” your mind countered, and you elected to ignore it... mostly. 

 

When the twelf wave came- a group of 5 soldiers armed to the tee, one even with a mage’s staff- you refused to listen to your mind, and began dodging their attacks. But an inkling tickled in your mind. What if you  _ did _ get hit? If one of those swords, or that mage’s spells  _ did _ land on you. How would it feel? Would it thrill you more? How bad would it hurt? How would the humans react? 

 

How would Gosren react? 

 

You decided to let it happen, but only a little! A blade swung from your far left, and you didn’t move, letting it gauge into your arm, lodging in your bone. Blood sprayed from your arm, coating the blade immediately and splashing to the floor. You looked at your wound. 

 

It didn’t hurt. In fact, just as quick as it sprayed blood, it stopped. The blade was still against your arm, but your wound had closed... The soldier yelped, pulling his blade away, and where it had lodged into your arm, there was a crescent of metal missing. Your body had  _ dissolved _ the blade in order to heal your arm; there wasn’t even a scratch where there was a near-fatal wound seconds before. 

 

You huffed a laughter in amazement, and it slowly morphed into something different; something that scared even  _ you.  _ The other soldiers kept their assault going, blades now slashing at you and lodging into your body. You did not move as they struck you, each wound only increasing the weightless outward pressure in your chest. You were  _ giddy _ . You were excited. You could barely breath in awe. 

 

You were untouchable! Each blade that struck you came back missing a chunk or a tip or an entire half; your body was eating away at their weapons to close your wounds. 

 

You couldn’t stop the laughter as you walked toward one of the soldiers, and reached out a hand slowly. She backed up, eyes wide in panic, but your slow hand quickly shot out, dislodging her head from her body. 

 

You felt relieved as her blood splattered on the floor. You didn’t have to worry about dodging anymore! You could just attack! All these battles would be so much quicker! 

 

You took out the rest just as swiftly as you did her, and your heart sunk a little. 

 

Didn’t that make this a little too easy? 

 

_____________

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stayed outside now; only came in for diner. You knew Gosren was worried about you, but you refused to talk about it, silently begging her to just show you she was alright.She obliged, and talked your ear off. You were happy to listen. 

 

Hellfire,

I may not know anything else as well. I am frightened. 

~Garrison

~~~~~~~~~~~~

_____________

 

Thirteen, Fourteen followed the same pattern. You warned. They hesitated, but attacked. You let them shower you in your own blood, and then offed them. 

 

It wasn’t long until that grew boring as well. Why did the battles have to end so quickly? They were all going to be dead soon anyway... why not let them live a little longer? Dodge a few attacks, let them hit you a few times more. Let them... enjoy their last few moments... you told yourself. So you did. You let them think they could win, if only for a while. You would let them hit you, you’d stumble and fall, you’d give them hope, and  _ then _ you’d kill them. 

 

Your sharp teeth and wicked claws made it easy. 

 

________________

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You didn’t come in anymore. Gosren came out instead, giving you your dinner and sitting with you to eat. You enjoyed her company. It scared you, how disconnected from everyone you were becoming, but part of you just accepted it. Another part told you that as long as you had Gosren, you were still... okay...

 

Garrison,

Fear is understandable. Do you have someone you are close to? Stay with them, it will keep you sane

-Hellfire

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

________________

 

It was the fifteenth time that a new idea struck your fancy. What if, instead of just giving them hope before killing them, you gave them hope, and then took it away? Wouldn’t  _ that _ be fun? 

 

So when their “Best Men” showed up (For the 4th time, if you might interject), you let them attack you. You let them down you. You let them cheer over your body. You waited for the perfect time. 

 

It was when one of them laughingly put their foot on top of you that you decided that you had had enough “losing.” So you moved, grabbing the woman’s leg, and twisting it, pulling it off her body like you would a chicken leg. 

 

The cracks and tears that rang out in the morning air filled you with joy. 

 

She fell to the floor, and you jumped up, laughing when the soldiers around you scattered, pulling their weapons out again. You tsk’d them, and stepped toward her writhing body, toward the nearest soldier. He was shaking, sword held in front of him as more of a shield than a sword. 

 

“These are the “best of the army?” you mocked, stepping on top of the screaming woman’s neck, silencing her. “This is sad.” You let yourself smile, revealing your teeth as they morphed to sharp points. “You cannot bring down even one person... And to think, I was going to try a new tactic today... Aw.. I guess I’ll have to do it anyway.” You kept talking, proud that none even dared get closer to you while you just prattled on. They were all frozen in fear. You wondered if that was because of the woman underneath you, or the aura of death that spilled off your back. Either way, it filled you with excitement. 

 

You stepped forward, feeling your feet touch the shadows of the sputtering woman, and revelled in the immediate connection with the shadows. Ah. the shadows. Why hadn’t you thought of them before? Maybe it was because they weren’t for combat, but rather for rest and travelling. But now... 

 

You dropped into the shadows, your body becoming nothing as your soul travelled from one shadow to the next. The soldiers let out yelps of surprise as you disappeared, and whipped around in surprise when one near the back fell to the ground, head rolling. They were yelling to each other back and forth, scrambling to move and find you when you appeared from another shadow, and shoved your arm straight through another’s back, snapping their spine and sternum before your hand erupted from the other side. He collapsed, resting all his weight on your arm. You tossed him like a wet rag at another soldier, and they screamed as their comrade slammed into them. 

 

You were quick to appear behind them, bracing them so they don’t fall under the weight of their friend. You dropped your mouth to their ear. “Don’t worry, I got you,” You sniggered before your hands wrapped around their arms in a firm grip, and slowly ripped them off. 

 

When they fell down, you dropped their arms, and looked around. 

 

The carnage made your heart jump in joy. 

You stopped warning them. 

____________

~~~~~~~~~~~

When Gosren visited at night, you weren’t there, rather hiding on the roof to not be disturbed. You loved her, but talking to her sounded too difficult. You couldn’t... understand... her.....

 

You did not send a letter to Hellfire.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Summary: Reader begins protecting the house from all the human attackers. The humans send stronger and stronger soldiers, but Reader goes through them easily. Reader starts off feeling horrible for killing people, but begins losing their gentle heart, and slowly revels in killing and torturing the people who come. It gets REALLY bad. She also can’t relate with Gosren anymore because she can’t really connect with anyone anymore. 

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You sat on the roof, staring out at the horizon with steely eyes. There was not a person for as far as the eyes could see, and you had pretty good eyes. You let out a sigh, glancing down at the street below. It was mostly clean, but you seemed unable to remove the bloodstains now entrenched into the dirt. You saw the edge of the door when it opened, and your eyes widened a bit when Gosren walked out. 

 

She looked up, and gave you a tired smile. “Hey,” She held a plate out for you to see. “I made you breakfast. Want to eat with me?” You stared at her, and she just smiled, holding the plate out. Finally, you looked away, back to the horizon, and you heard her sigh. “Alright, i’ll just leave it here... I love you, _____. Never forget that, alright?” Your heart twinged at her words, and you turned to respond, but something caught your attention. Your eyes shot to the horizon, hearing the door shut underneath you. Your soul jumped in excitement, but your mind dropped in dread. 

 

You felt apprehensious, as if the figures walking in your direction were somehow oozing death. Your ears rang in alarm as they grew closer, and you noticed the faint soul-tether between them. 

 

Oh. Immediately, you jumped from the roof, and sprinted toward them. You had to get as much distance between the house and yourself; you felt the most powerful mix of pure joy and stark terror as you grew closer to them. 

 

It was a silky and a host, without a home. Your mind recalled the stern rules of silkies; never tie to a vagabond. They considered the entire world as their home, and tying to them meant tying to the entire world. If the vagabond ever died, the silky would be tied directly to the earth. They wouldn’t be able to handle the sheer amount of space they were tied to, and would be literally torn to pieces until there was nothing left. 

 

Tying to a vagabond meant unescapable death. 

 

But it also meant, as the world is always in some form of danger, the Silky was  _ always _ in tuned with their god-like power. They were called Wanderer’s by the elder silkies, and they were to “Be avoided like the plague, or eradicated like the plague, depending on your abilities.” 

 

If you had thought about that a bit more, maybe you would have paused before running in. 

 

In this case, you deemed the pair walking in your direction needed to be eradicated. You stopped in front of them, and steeled yourself for battle. 

 

They both stopped, easy smiles on their face. It boiled your blood, but you did not move. The vagabond raised an eyebrow, and let out a soft whistle. “Wow,” He spoke incredulously, “You sure are blood-stained,” He let out a breathy laugh, “I guess this battle will prove some challenge for my silky, then.” 

 

You did not speak, heart rate soaring as you waited. They both just stood there, completely calm. 

 

When you looked back on it later, you realized you should have taken that as a cautionary signal. 

 

“Ah. I feel bad for your host, though,” He continued, shrugging. “Gosren, i’ve been told.” He smirked, “How can she stand to be connected to someone so  _ dirty.”  _ he spat, and you flinched, shoulders shaking slightly. 

 

“Or maybe,” He spoke quietly, and your ears prickled, now glaring at him, daring him to continue, “maybe she’s just as  _ disgusting _ herself.” 

 

Maybe, if you had stopped for even a second, you would have gotten through your impressionable panic, and seen his comments as a way to anger you. 

 

You screamed, and felt yourself change immediately. Your hands erupted into claws, your  teeth sharpened, the shadows twisted around you. You weren’t yourself anymore, but rather a twisted, three times the size  _ abomination _ wrapped in shadows and furious energy, fueled only by uncontrollable rage. 

 

You charged straight for the man, claws outstretched to kill. 

 

You didn’t get within 3 yards of him before you were blasted to the side, crashing into a building far to the left. You barrelled through the house with an erupting roar, and aimed once again for the calm vagabond. You got no closer before you were knocked to the side again. You skidded against the ground, and your eyes shot to your true enemy; the wanderer looked at you with raised eyebrows and a bored expression, wiggling a finger at you. 

 

You didn’t need much more than that. 

 

300 years from then, you realized you  _ should have  _ needed more than that. 

 

You attacked with all you had, throwing yourself at the Wanderer, dancing between shadows to attack it from all angles, screaming and roaring all the way. You chucked buildings, giant rocks, yourself, anything your hands could get on at him. You clawed him, charged him, bit him, but he did not engage you. It enraged you more, and you continued your assault, battering and beating him, screaming in frustration as he either took each hit, or skittered away from you with easy steps. 

 

He was more trained than you. Had had much more battles than you, and you knew it. You kept attacking nonetheless, your rage and adrenaline overtaking your mind. 

 

That is, until you heard and  _ felt _ the front door of your house split in two. You whipped around, and felt your heart stop as you watched the vagabond rush in. You soared across the ground toward the house, but were easily caught up to, and knocked to the side. You skidded across the street, sliding to a stop and immediately jumping up again. Wanderer stood in front of you with a smirk on his face, ushering you to attack again. 

 

It was then that your brain finally broke free of instincts, and you realized you were being dumb. 

 

You charged the silky again, and just as he braced himself to take another attack, you juked to the right, and soared straight for the door. 

 

You slammed through the threshold, and then froze. 

 

You were too late. Gosren, with a knife hilted into her chest, fell to the ground in front of you, the vagabond laughing sickly at your frozen state. 

 

You couldn’t breath, couldn’t move, couldn’t feel your body. You just stared, watching Gosren clutch the blade in her chest with wide eyes. Those shocked eyes flickered to you, and you were ripped from your frozen state. 

 

You saw red, and lunged for the murderer. You lost your physical form as you met him, your unadulterated  _ fury _ releasing you from the boundaries of a body. You became a massive tidal wave of pure darkness, aiming everything straight toward the man whose face no longer laughed. 

 

His scream never left his mouth before you engulfed him like a suffocating blanket. Less than a moment later, you returned to your corporeal state, falling to the ground and whipping toward Gosren. 

 

The man was gone. You could just barely acknowledge the single screech from outside as the Wanderer ceased to exist, but you didn’t pay any heed as you stumbled across the ground toward Gosren. You reached her, and hovered over her, hands unsure where to go. 

 

“Oh. Oh!” You wailed, tears tickling at your eyes but not tipping over as long as you didn’t breath. She turned her head to face you, and your eyes met. You sucked in air, and the tears streamed. 

 

“No no no no!” Your hands wrapped around her, and you pulled her into your lap. “Gosren please! I’m sorry!” You hugged her tight, shaking. Your head shot up. 

 

“TORIEL!” You screeched, “TORIEL!” You heard sudden footsteps, and you returned your attention to Gosren, whose eyes were no longer focusing. “No no Gosren stay with me.” You panicked, tapping her face lightly and shaking her. “C’mon you stubborn turtle,” you could see your tears falling onto her shirt, mixing with the blood staining her entire blouse red. “You’re so much stronger than this, come ON!” You screamed just as Toriel reached the bottom of the stairs. You shot your eyes toward her. 

 

“Heal her!” You yelled, hugging Gosren closer. Her shell was slick now, and your fingers slipped along the surface, but you held firm. Toriel gave you the saddest look, and shook her head. 

 

“I can’t, she’s too fa-”

 

“HEAL HER!” You screamed now, shaking the windows with your voice. You held out one hand, and magic erupted from your hands, tugging Toriel to you until she fell in front of Gosren. “HEAL HER!” 

 

“I can’t!” Toriel was crying now, held captive by your stuttering magic. “She’s too far gone! I can’t do anything!” 

 

“Yes you can!” You screeched, holding Gosren tighter. The woman in your arms turned her head again, and whispered your name almost silently. You looked down at her; you couldn’t see her anymore behind the wall of tears pouring from your eyes. Snot clogged your throat and nose, you couldn’t stop shaking. 

 

“S-stay with me G-...G-....G-osren.” You choked out, nearly on the edge of puking as she looked at you. Her face curled into a soft smile, and she shakily raised a hand.

 

“_____,” She said softly again, and you choked on your tears. “You did a good job.” 

 

“I’m not done!” You snatched her hand from the air, holding to it like a tether. “I’m not done! Gosren come on you can get through this!” You turned to Toriel, eyes begging now. “Please-” you trailed off, and Toriel only dipped her head. 

 

“_____,” Gosren said again, and you looked down at her. She weakly squeezed your hand. “Tell...Gerson...” 

 

“I’m not telling Gerson anything! Tell him yourself when you see him!” You were blubbering, barely able to breath. 

 

“That... I love him...” 

 

“YOU TELL HIM!” You screeched, pulling her into the tightest hug, cradling her head and rocking her back and forth. 

 

You could feel the connection between the two of you begin to quiver, threatening to split from her fading soul. You clutched her tighter, choking out “no” after “no.” 

 

“And...” Gosren continued, her voice so soft, you would have missed it if she wasn’t right next to your ear. The tether quivered again, pulling taunt. “I love...”

 

“Stop. Pleas-”

 

“You....”

 

Snap. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so really REALLY short summary for the entire chapter.
> 
> Reader loses her connection with her moral system as she gains EXP and LV by protecting the home. She shares letters with Hellfire (but only a little), and uses Gosren as a way to keep herself sane. 
> 
> She battles a silky. The silky's host gets a fatal blow on Gosren. 
> 
> Gosren dies in Silky's arms. 
> 
>  
> 
> Grillky.tumblr.com
> 
> Please. Love. I can't. See past my tears. 
> 
> I'm crying right now. Literally. Like. I can't stop.


	6. A haunting expression; a kindred spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 700 years in less than 4,000 words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of depression. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING FOR MINOR CHARACTER SUICIDE  
> TRIGGER WARNING FOR MINOR CHARACTER SUICIDE  
> IT IS A MINOR CHARACTER: IT WON'T HURT LIKE GOSREN DID I SWEAR BUT IF IT TRIGGERS YOU, ONCE JERRY GETS TO HIS 20'th year with Silky, SKIP TO PAST THE LINE
> 
> Okay. Okay. 
> 
> Yeah. 
> 
> This chapter was kinda difficult, but it's wrapping up the backstory, and going into the real story :DD
> 
> HORRAY I'M DONE WITH THAT SAD ASS SHIT WE CAN GET HAPPY AGAIN! 
> 
> *achem* 
> 
> grillky.tumblr.com

You knew she was dead when you heard the snap of your tether to her soul, and felt the tug toward her dissipate immediately, taking your heart with it. You cried and wailed and screamed, and fought away anyone who attempted to console you. You filled the entire house with the sounds of your misery. 

 

That is, until her body crumbled in your hands, dust falling through your fingers and pouring into your lap. You fell silent, hands dropping to the ground, mouth dropping open, eyes dead. 

 

You didn’t move. 

 

You didn’t move when the tether found a new home on the ground below you, sealing you to the house. 

 

You didn’t move when Toriel placed a hand on your back, and whispered apologies, or when each person, one by one, attempted to console you. Eventually, she left. 

 

You didn’t move when the day ended, darkness falling over the pile of dust that still settled in your lap. You didn’t move when the sun returned, shining glimmers of light onto the dust that blew away from your lap in wisps of moving air. You didn’t move even when every last speck of dust left you, leaving you alone on the floor. You just wanted to fade away. 

 

You lost count of how many times the sun rose and set, and you had a sense, somewhere in your mind, that it didn’t matter. You would be stuck here forever; you had better get used to time flowing differently.

 

You didn’t move when a plate of food was set in front of you with a worried whisper from Toriel. You didn’t move when one plate became two, two became three, three became seven, each plate untouched, food cold and stale. 

 

You do not need to eat. You do not want to eat. 

 

You remember Asgore kneeling in front of you, telling you that they had to leave; it was too dangerous here now. You didn’t respond. He invited you to go with them. You didn’t respond. He told you that the war was pretty much over, and everyone was retreating to the underground to at least save their species. You didn’t respond. He told you that you would probably never see any of them again. You didn’t respond. He sighed, looking toward the stairs, where Toriel and a few generals stood respectfully, hands filled with their belongings. Asgore sadly shook his head, and all their shoulders slumped. Toriel wiped a tear, and walked to you. 

 

“Dear.” You didn’t respond. 

 

“_____ We’re leaving. Gosren told me you wouldn’t be able to come with us before she...” You didn’t respond. She gingerly placed a hand on your shoulder, wiping another tear. 

 

“You know we love you.” She whispered, squeezing your shoulder. You didn’t respond. 

 

“Gerson loves you,” You didn’t respond. 

 

“She loved you.” You didn’t respond. Toriel deflated, worry creasing her face as she dipped into her pocket, and pulled it out again, hand in a fist. She unfurled her hand and placed the small figuring of you and Gosren onto the floor in front of you. When you didn’t move, she drooped her head, stood, and motioned for the monsters at the stairs. 

 

Everyone filed out with with silent feet, and the door inaudibly clicked shut, leaving you alone in a home filled only with yourself, shimmering beams of daylight, and dust. 

 

You didn’t move. You weren’t sure how many years had passed, but they passed like nothing. You were, in your own mind, dead. You still existed, you still breathed, but you were dead. Unmoving, a fossil in the middle of a house filled only with misery and regret. At one point in time, you had even felt lonely, but you snuffed it; who are you to deserve company? 

 

So you sat there, tethered to the ground where the only person who gave you a reason to breathe drew their last breath; unmoving, unthinking, existing but not. 

 

You heard the humans at some point in time. They came in small groups, chatting in hushed tones, but you could hear them. They spoke of weaponizing mythical creatures. As they were not monsters who could be held behind powerful barriers, the humans thought to use them for something else. 

 

They vehemently believed that the “mythics” should stop with all this “neutral bullshit.” 

 

You didn’t care. 

 

You did not register their existence until, one day, they entered your home. Soldiered men marched over your threshold, spreading about the room. They gave you a wide berth, shifting nervously as one larger man stepped through, walking straight to you and kneeling. 

 

“So this is the fabled Garrison.” he spoke, not venomous but contemplative. “A troop stationed in a fortress to defend it...” He looked around, “This isn’t much of a fortress, if you ask me,” He looked at you again, “Would you like a better home, Silky? One with people to care for and laugh with and rooms to clean and a purpose?” 

 

You did not respond. 

 

“Come on, Garrison,” He gave you a warm smile. “We can take care of you. Don’t you want a new home?” You didn’t respond. His eye twitched, and he glared at you now. “Come on, darling, bear with me here.” You didn’t move. Didn’t acknowledge his presence. 

 

Didn’t flinch when he raised a hand to strike you. The other soldiers about the room tittered a bit, anticipating the hard blow. You stared through the man in front of you, and he wilted, dropping his arm. 

 

“You don’t look like the Garrison who I heard of...” His voice was low, “You don’t look like the unstoppable guard of the war 80 years ago. You don’t look like the potential weapon that I was so itching to get my hands on.” He was almost whispering now, face filled with sadness. The other soldiers laughs died off. “You just look hurt...lonely...” His soldiers dropped, “Dead inside.” 

 

He looked away in shame, “I apologize for bothering you.” His head raised to the nearest soldier, and he spoke calmly. “Leave this house, and mark it with tape. This place is to not be disturbed, understood?” 

 

A salute, and the soldiers filed out. The man turned to you again, and moved from a kneeling to a sitting position. “Y’know, I lost my mother in the war.” He said soflty, letting out a painful chuckle. “She fought against the monsters. Killed a lot of them too... But,” He looked down, and saw the dusty figurine between the two of you. “She came home after the war, but she was  _ different. _ She was violent, crazed even.” He reached out to touch the figuring, and your hand snapped up, grabbing his wrist. He stopped. “She was executed.” He pulled away, and you released him, eyes finally flickering to his face. He gave you an empty smile. “EXP and LV are a terrifying thing,” He took a soft breath, “My mother couldn’t handle it; she killed quite a few people before they caught her. Even I almost died.... I thought that anyone with a high LV like hers would be an abomination.... But here you sit...” He shook his head in consternation, “With the highest LV I’ve ever seen, and you’re so...  _ empty _ ....” He looked at the door, almost longingly. “It makes me wonder what made you gain that LV, and what you lost that made you like this...” He placed his hands on the ground, and hefted himself up. 

 

“I respect you, Garrison.” He clicked his feet together. “Your grief overtook your LV, and you didn’t go on a rampage as my mother did.” He puffed out his chest, straightened his back. “Thank you.” He saluted you, and you stared at him, no, through him. He relaxed. “No one will bother you anymore. Please-” His face contorted into empathy, “Stay determined.” 

 

Your lips twitched, and that was enough for him. He about-faced, and walked out the door, closing it with a resounding click. It was much louder than when Toriel had-

 

Your tears fell again, and this time, instead of the dead numbness, you tilted your head back and let your grief out. As the general walked away, thinking of the mother he lost when he was only 10, he could feel the house behind him wilt in despair, and he couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. You had lost something dear to you, but at least now you could cry. He thought to himself that maybe the 60 years he’s lived on this planet has taught him at least  _ something _ . 

 

The soldiers left your town with only a sign in front of your house to not disturb it. 

 

You looked down, staring at the little figurine in front of you, and reached out, lightly touching it. Gosren was gone. Everyone was gone. But you were still alive. 

 

You let out a sigh. Gosren would not like you to just sit here for all of eternity... She’d yell at you in the way she did, smacking your shoulder and sassing you until you got up and did something productive. 

 

You smacked your own shoulder, got up, and steeled yourself to do something productive. This home  _ was _ pretty dusty...

 

The man finished his life and died at age 92 with 4 kids at his bedside, and a wife patiently waiting for him. 

 

You kept your house clean now, and looked out your window constantly. You still ached. You ached and struggled. Sometimes you’d end up sitting on that windowsill for weeks, unable to move, your depression leaving you breathless. 

 

Sometimes you punched walls, kicked windows, screamed, angry at the powers that be that you had to lose your one love. Why you? Why were you stuck here? 

 

Other times, you remembered why it was you. Guilt tore you bit by bit, and you shed more than enough tears to fill the tubs for the baths you did not take. 

 

Most of the time, though, you just stared out that window, wistfully hoping she’d come walking down that street, basket of groceries in hand, a song on her lips. 

 

Time worked differently for you; as an immortal being (For the most part), time ebbed and flowed like a river. Sometimes, it rushed like a rapid, and 50 years had passed in the blink of an eye. Other times, it trickled, and every day was a crawling misery of self-hatred, loneliness, and boredom. 

 

It was about 510 years after Gosren walked out of your life that someone poked their head over the horizon. You perked up; you hadn’t seen someone in nearly 400 years, and the thought of talking, even for a miniscule moment, to something other than a passing squirrel or your little figurine filled you with hope. 

 

You ran to your door, and stopped only when your hand nearly touched the doorknob. Anxiety filled you, and you froze up, heart pounding in your chest. You hadn’t seen anyone in 400 years! Yeah, time moved faster for you, but 400 years was 400 years. How do you say hi to him? Would he be scared of you? How do you talk to him? How do you  _ talk? _ (You still remembered how to talk, and you did converse with the little creatures that entered your open window from time to time, but... to a person? You suddenly felt yourself unable to speak at all). You stumbled away from the door, heart rivaling that of a hummingbird as you thought about how you just avoided that calamity. 

 

The door slammed open, crashing into the wall next to it, revealing a worse for wear, scruffly human who just waltzed into your home, and then stopped. His eyes met yours, and went wide as saucers. 

 

“Oh!” He exclaimed, and you squeaked, scrambling away and upstairs. 

 

Smooth. 

 

“Hello?” He called from downstairs, and you flinched, scrambling to the bedroom and hiding. 

 

Smooth. 

 

You heard the step squeak, and your soul twinged a bit. 

 

“I know you’re here, I literally JUST saw you run up the stairs!” His voice was both joking and concerned. “You know this place has been abandoned for nearly 500 years now, right?” You peeked through the crack of the bedroom door, and saw him drop his large pack to the floor next to the stairs. “Do you live here?” he continued, looking around room. “This place is perfectly up-kept, unlike the rubble around....” He caught site of the couch you so religiously kept clean, and walked to it, standing above it for a moment. “Can I sit here?” he called to no-one (you), and you kept silent. 

 

...Smooth. But who were you to be smooth? You should kick him out. You shouldn’t talk to him. You are a beast. You are a lonely beast who can’t protect even one person. You’re horrible. You’re horrible. You’re horrible. 

 

“Go ahead,” You said, voice cracking from lack of use. His head turned to your direction, and he let out a beaming smile. 

 

“Thanks!” He  _ yelled,  _ and he flopped down on the couch. “Very nice place you’ve got here!” He kicked his feet up on the other side of the couch, and you blanched, running out of your hiding spot, only to freeze. 

 

Fuck. He looked at you, now standing out in the open, and raised an eyebrow. “You’re odd. You a hermit or somethin’?” 

 

You grew silent, shoulders slumping. “....somethin’.” You answered, and the heaviness of your words stilled his words. 

 

“Oh... well...” He scratched the back of his head. “I, uhh... oh!” He jumped up, making you gasp in shock, and ran to his pack. He fished through it for a moment, and then pulled out a bag. He opened it, and the scent of strawberries assailed your nostrils. He returned to the couch, and offered the bag to you. “An offering! For permission to stay here for a night or two while I re-stock!” 

 

You stared at the strawberries, ears ringing. You should kick him out. He doesn’t belong here. You don’t want him here. You’ll kill him. You’ll get attached to him. You’ll hurt him. This can’t end well. Get. Him. Out. Of. Here. 

 

You take a strawberry, and place it in your mouth. 

 

It tastes like blood. 

 

“Good, huh?” He smiles, popping one in his mouth, “I just picked em about a mile back! They’re the best i’ve ever tasted!” 

 

“Y-yeah,” you looked away. 

 

“Want another?” He shook the bag in your face, and you couldn’t turn him down. You ate a second one. 

 

It tasted like blood. 

 

“I’m Jerry,” He smiles at you, and you can’t stop the disgusted expression from flashing across your face. He deflates, and you panic. 

 

“No no no! I’m sorry!” you flail, “I just- there’s a Jerry that- No wait... oh...” Your head drops, and you frown. “I’m sorry....” His chuckle brings you back from your guilt, and you look up at him. He gives you a thumbs up. 

 

“You’re not the first person to flinch at my name,” He nods thoughtfully, “Most mythics do, when I meet them. Seems Jerry was a monster before the barrier,” he mused, “A real not-fun guy, if I am informed correctly.” You nodded, and he shrugged. “Can’t escape the stigma of a name, I guess. Oh well. Maybe I can redeem the honor of my name with you?” 

 

You give him an odd grimace, and he grimaces back. “Maybe?” 

 

“Maybe.” 

 

He fell silent for a moment, and then looked you up and down. Your face grew hot, and you scowled at him. “Oh sorry, I was just trying to figure out what you are... I’ve met my fair share of Mythics, and I can normally tell what they are... You’re a silky, right?” You nodded curtly, and he looked proud of himself. 

 

“Okay then!” 

 

“What’s your name?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. You hesitated. That’s how friendships started, right? With names? If you gave him your name, did that make him a friend? Did you want that? You didn’t. You didn’t want him as a friend. You had to keep your distance. Maybe if you gave him just your title, he would treat you as such, and you could just keep it at that. 

 

“You can just call me Silky.” 

 

“I’m not just going to call you Silky,” he looked at you with a soft smile, but an impatient one. “You’re a person too.” 

 

You choked. You wanted to tell him otherwise. You wanted to tell him of the strawberries that tasted of blood, of your hands that you could never wash enough, of your hundreds of years of grief solved by sitting and staring at a wall... Instead, you gave him your name...

__________

  
  


With that, you struck up a friendship with Jerry. It was strained, to say the least, as you were distant and afraid and you kept having visions of his head in your hands or him fading to dust in front of you, and he seemed to be very awkward around you. 

 

He was a physical person, and maybe that was what you needed. He would touch your shoulder, sit close to you on the couch, try to dance with you. You refused at first, but slowly you found yourself smiling when he snagged your hands and spun you in circles around the downstairs. 

 

He sucked at dancing, so you ended up stumbling and falling more than actually dancing, but it was the first fun you’d had in a  _ very _ long time. 

 

You learned he was around 30 years old, and had run away from his home and responsibilities a year ago to travel out until he found a new home. He hinted that he may have found one, but you ignored him. 

 

It was only after the 2 month point that you realized he..well, he never left! He said 2 days, but... You didn’t mind much, actually. You enjoyed his loud personality. It reminded you of Gosren, but absolutely did not as well. 

 

She was kind, soft hearted, sassy. He was kind-ish? Loud as  _ hell _ , rambunctious. You couldn’t help but compare the two, and you still felt tied to Gosren...

 

But you could also feel yourself healing. You could wake up in the morning without tears prickling your eyes. He was no replacement, but he did make you smile at least a little. After 6 months, he declared that he lived here now, and you didn’t really complain. 

 

He made you less numb. 

 

He showed you his talent when he came home one day with a log and a set of knives. You watched from the door-frame as he carved and carved until a coffee-table emerged from the wood. You put it upstairs in front of the couch. 

 

It was the 15th year of him living with you that you told him of Gosren. Of the war. Of your... doings... He told you that you didn’t frighten him, but the next year was filled with him keeping his distance, and being more careful around you. It reminded you of who you really were, and you began to detach yourself again. And just as suddenly as he began avoiding you, he stopped. He stubbornly stated that that was who you “were” and this is who you “are,” and he shouldn’t let the past bother him. You were thankful. 

 

The 20’th year, he asked you to tie with him. You said no, and the fight that came after that left a red mark on your face. 

A month after that, he told you he loved you. You told him you couldn’t.  _ That  _ fight left you with a black eye. 

 

The rest of that year was silent and rough. You wondered why you even wanted relationships again, if this is what it meant. 

 

The 21st year was much better. He apologized, and said he didn’t want to ruin his friendship with you. You forgave him, and all returned to normal. He spoke with you more though, and danced less. He was 51 this year, and complained about his poor bones more. When you reminded him of your age, he gave you the funniest glare. 

 

He started talking about his loneliness. You tried to be with him more often, to keep him company, but he seemed dissasitisfied with only one person for company. You wondered why it took so long for him to start feeling lonely, but you did not give it much thought past your worry. 

 

The 25th year, he was darker, quiet, sad. You tried to dance with him, but he did not. You wanted to talk, but he didn’t speak much. You suggested the journal. He got one, and never used it. You wanted to help, but you... you didn’t understand his feelings. You had been alone for  _ so long _ , and just one person helped you. You would take what you got, and his energy made you happy. 

 

But now... he had no energy. He had no calm. He had nothing but sadness. It made you uncomfortable. You didn’t know how to deal with it. You tried, but you couldn’t. 

 

So when you found him, in the middle of the downstairs, standing right above where Gosren dusted, covered in gasoline with his unused journal in his hands, you weren’t that surprised. 

 

_ The paper lit first and fast, causing you to scream as the fire spread across his front faster than you could reach him... _

 

He lit fast, dropped fast, and spread fast. You reached him, and dropped to him. 

 

_ “Live on, my little Silky. Be happy for me. Can you promise that?” A hand on your cheek, smooth, hot, but firm, even as it lost it’s strength...“Promise me, _____?”  _

  
  


You hated it. You shook your head, angry at him. 

 

_ “Smile one last time for me, my silky... please...” _

 

He died before you could. You mourned as you put out the flames, and left his body to burn to nothing in the middle of your floor. 

 

Now Gosren’s death place had a marker, you guess. 

 

And you were alone again. 

 

You weren’t sure how you felt about that. Numbness? Denial? Acceptance? 

 

His loss was painful and terrifying, but not crushing. 

 

Your lack of emotional reaction frightened you. 

 

________________

  
  


Gerson sat in front of you, still sipping at his drink, contemplating the past with a peaceful expression. Meanwhile, you were simmering. No. You weren’t simmering. 

 

You were smoldering.  

 

“Gosren’s folly?” You started low, staring at the cup in Gerson’s hand. He hummed in aknowlegement, and took another sip. You burned. 

 

Grillby’s flames fluttered, and he leaned across the bar to place a hand on yours. Your voice grew a little louder, but still low and flat. “Folly... for Tying... with me.” 

 

Gerson fell silent, eyes flicking open as he realized his mistake. 

 

“You’re saying that Gosren,” You were shaking now, teeth clenched, “The woman I knew for YEARS more than you,” You looked him straight in the eye, and he recoiled, “Made a MISTAKE by tying with me?” You were standing now, and even though you were shorter, you towered over the cowering tortoise. “Do you have ANY idea what I did for Gosren?” 

 

“Well-I..err..uhh,” Gerson was sweating, you were roaring. 

 

“I have  _ nightmares _ , Gerson,  _ nightmares!  _ All the people who fell by MY hands for my love for  _ your _ wife, Gerson!” You grabbed the front of his shirt, “I was the one who protected your king. Your King. I kept your fruitless war going.” You yanked him toward you. “I killed  _ hundreds _ for your wife, for your  _ cause _ ! The streets outside this house will  _ always  _ reek of  _ death and sins  _ because of my love, and  _ your war _ Gerson!” You jerked him from his chair, and began dragging him across the bar, toward the front door,  Gerson stumbling behind, stuttering out your name over and over. You ignored him. 

 

“I murdered men.” You spat, walking past the booths. “I murdered women.” You passed the burn mark on the ground. “I murdered  _ children _ for her. For  _ King Asgore!  _ I murdered children by the DOZENS, Gerson!” you were nearing the door, “I had no connections to your war! I am not affected by your cause! But I tied for your wife, and I guarded on  _ her  _ request! Her request to protect YOU, Gerson!” You grabbed the doorknob, and threw the door open. throwing him out. He fell onto the ground, onto the blood no one saw but you. “You may have forgive me, Gerson, which is more than I can say for myself, but if you consider my entire  _ purpose  _ a  _ folly _ , then you are NOT welcome in my life, and you are NOT welcome in my home!” 

 

You slammed the door shut, shaking as you stared at the powerful oak that seperated you from your home and your past. Air seeped from your clenched teeth in a sigh, and you dropped your head to the cold wood. You stayed like that, just breathing, eyes prickling, until you heard the familiar crackle of flame nearing you. 

 

Your eyes widened. Grillby heard... Grillby heard everything. You froze up, holding your breath. 

 

A hand lightly rested on your back, it’s warmth reaching your heart. You released your breath immediately, and the prickling let itself go in two individual tears trickling down your face. The hand did not move, and neither did you, standing in somewhat comforting silence. 

 

You didn’t expect an awkward apology from Grillby. He did not do things like that. You were surprised there wasn’t already a cup of cider in your hands, or a new “good book” in his terms being lightly pushed into your chest. But right now, there was just silence. The hand lifted from your back, and lightly touched your shoulder, tugging gently, asking for you to turn around. You obliged, head hung low. His hand stayed on your shoulder. 

 

There was silence, still, between the two of you, but you knew he was about to speak. He took a smooth breath in, and released it just as softly. 

 

“Garrison?” 

 

Your eyes flicked up to meet his glasses, and memories flicked through your brain, quick and pointed. The war board. The little figurines. The one you admired most. You realized, eyes widening, lips parting. 

 

“Hellfire,” you breathed, and for the first time, the blank slate of his face ruptured. Where a mouth belonged, a fissure tore across his face, opening to reveal nearly pure white nothingness. Eyes appeared behind his glasses-also pure white almonds that bore into yours with an intensity that rivaled the Wanderer. The flames on his head no longer crackled, but roared, licking the air in a possibly terrifying way. 

 

But it wasn’t terrifying. It was the furthest thing from it. The burning, haunted eyes, the wicked mouth, the flames that flicked and licked, begging to be fed....

 

It was familiar. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *achem* grillky.tumblr.com
> 
> You ever went through a hard time in life, and then met someone who has that expression that just SCREAMS that they've been through the same thing that you have? 
> 
> And it haunts you to see your own face on someone else, but at the same time it's the most comforting because in that one brief moment, you have found someone you know will understand? 
> 
> I have. Once. And it filled me with hope.


	7. Two pieces of a whole, Two pieces on a coffee table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They complimented each other in the most peculiar way; his with the burning craze of war, yours with the sadness of a necessary evil.
> 
> You thought it ironic that the meanings behind each piece matched the other person...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS THE FANART HAPPENED! cHECK OUT THIS SHIT! 
> 
> To my first fanart submission, LadyOfCold! Fuzzy socks envisioned! I love it!  
> http://ladyofcold.tumblr.com/post/138982846652/grillky
> 
> To a reader who has literally made me CRY with their sweet comments, WindHarmony! Your depictions of the emotions in these two fanarts have affected how one of the scenes has played out (you can thank her for the (look at the first picture), and you have helped me with an idea for later in the story!  
> http://windharmony.tumblr.com/post/139015992306/oh-my-dear-ill-keep-you-in-my-arms-tonight  
> http://windharmony.tumblr.com/post/139029039936/garrison-hellfire-so-have-another-pic-for-a
> 
>  
> 
> And to the latest submission, YizuKikhons (I don't know where to capatalize that) who pointed out that Fae do have pointed ears, and thus gave me a headcanon I..should..have had...already...  
> http://yizukikhons.tumblr.com/post/139083388858/grillky-grillky-the-first-is-a-reference-pic
> 
> YOu guys are great! I love ya'all! 
> 
> Also: on my tumblr, Grillky.tumblr.com , you can read some of my writing processes, comment on some of my ideas, look at art, and even read the "outtakes" that i've deleted (mainly because I got the bright idea to drink and write. Don't drink and write. Just.... don't.)

 

You shared your story. Hesitant and slow, but you did. You sat on the couch next to Grillby, going through mug after mug of cider, telling him about Gosren, Gerson, the war, the people you killed -you remembered every one, their faces, the terror in their eyes that haunted you every night- the final battle with the wanderer. You had not shed a tear, but your gut felt empty. You spoke of your years alone, your empty soul tied to an empty home, the human general who helped you move again, and your short-lived friend Jerry. You even slipped off and under the couch, shoving your hands into the ripped upholstery underneath and extracting your most prized possession. You returned to Grillby’s side on the couch, and tentatively handed him the figurine, feeling your heart slam against your chest as he took the wooden war-piece from your protective fingers. When you saw him carefully cradle it in his hands, though, holding it as if it were pure gold rather than a carved piece of wood, your heart calmed down. He ran his fingers over each part of the figure, just as you did so many years ago with his figurine, and then respectfully handed it back, standing up. 

 

You watched as he straightened his pants, and walked to his room, leaving the door open behind him. You waited patiently, hearing the faintest of sounds from his direction. He came back, sitting down softly, cradling something in his palms. When he unfurled his fingers, you took a small awe’d breath in. His figurine, the one that sat on the same board as yours almost a millennia ago, now rested in his hands. He held it out toward you, and you took his just as carefully as he did yours. It was nearly the same, if not a little more worn for wear; the edges were darker, the divots in the armor worn down.

 

It was beautiful enough to hitch your breath. 

 

Well. A little. Now that you had the real Hellfire in front of you, the little depiction of him felt immensely dull. It’s shiny red lacquer held no comparison to his flickering, live flames. The painted white eyes gave no glory to the emotion filled, burning ones in front of you. The regality of the figure could never amount to the respect that Grillby commanded with his fiery gaze, straight shoulders, and confident stature. 

 

Grillby was beautiful enough to steal your breath completely. 

 

You smiled sadly, lifting your own little war-piece and setting both onto the coffee table side by side, his fiery red and your wispy grey. They complimented each other in the most peculiar way; his with the burning craze of war, yours with the sadness of a necessary evil. 

 

You thought it ironic that the meanings behind each piece matched the  _ other _ person...It was  _ then _ that you felt a tear streak down your cheek, quickly followed by another from the other side. Your lips quivered, pulling downward. 

 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, shoulders slumped. “I’ve been talking for so long. You probably have to open the bar...” 

 

You felt a hand on your shoulder, and you looked up at Grillby. He shifted on the couch so he could face you, shook his head, lifting a hand to your face, and wiping away your tears; left side first, then the right. You blubbered out an embarrassed laugh, and followed his hand with your own, dabbing at your eyes for a moment to chase away the rest of the tears. They refused, spilling over and wetting your fingers. Your blubbering increased in volume, and you tried to wipe them away again, scrubbing at your face now. 

 

You felt warmth on your skin, and opened your eyes. Grillby’s hands rest lightly on your wrists, not forcing your hands still, but rather  _ suggesting. _ you obliged, retracting your hands from your leaking face, and his hands left your wrists, trailing now to your shoulders. Once his hands rest on your shoulders, he gave the slightest tug, and you accepted his invitation, leaning forward into his arms, burying your face in his shirt. 

 

No words were shared as he embraced you, one hand lightly rubbing your back as your shoulders shook in silent sobs. It wasn’t the best hug; both you and he were twisted at an odd angle. Grillby seemed discontent after a while, and pulled away. You quickly hid your frown in disappointment, righting yourself on the couch only for him to reach forward, and wrap his arms around your waist. 

 

You let out a soft breath of surprise as he lifted you up and pulled you onto his lap, shifting you around till you were sideways, legs resting on the couch, arms (slightly awkwardly) scrunched in your lap. You were tense for a moment, but relaxed as he tucked your head under his chin and against his chest, wrapped his arms around you, and pulled you close. You felt his heartbeat more than you heard it; little pulses of heat emanated from his chest in a soothing rhythm. You found solace in his warmth  as it spread across your side and wrapped around your back with his arms. Your tears slowed, breath becoming more regular as his hand continued it’s previous up and down motions on your back. You took a few stabling breaths, and pressed your head into his chest as a way to show that you were appreciative. He squeezed you for a few moments in response. 

 

You relaxed, wrapped in his warmth. Somewhere in your chest, though, you felt something different. Like a lightbulb lit inside your chest, you could feel a welcome but near intense heat calling for your attention. It felt familiar, but oh-so-foreign at the same time. You liked it, it made you feel welcomed. 

 

It made you feel like you were home. 

 

Grillby noticed it this time, the quivering of the thin line connecting your soul to the floor downstairs. It wasn’t much, but it seemed to pull taunt for just a moment. 

 

“Humans,” Grillby spoke, still watching the tether, mesmerized. You felt his voice rumble from his chest, like the deep roaring of a large flame as it licked away any tension you still carried. “They are so...  _ fragile.”  _

 

You hummed in agreement, mind wandering to...things you’d prefer not to think about. You nuzzled closer to Grillby as he spoke. “Before the war, I knew how much they feared fire. I experienced it on a daily basis.” His hand paused on your back for a few moments, and then continued, less for comfort, more for contemplation now. His words were slow as he thought through each one before he spoke. “No one else did, though. No one paid attention to how humans feared me.” His fingers opened and closed now, scratching your shoulder. “Once the war started, though, my effect on human morale became very evident. Asgore asked me to be a general.” 

 

His hands stopped moving, and he rest his chin on your head, holding you closer for a moment. “I thought,” He trailed off, voice getting quieter. “I thought he asked me because of how ‘scary’ I was, so I could terrify them before they attacked.” His fist clenched into the fabric of your shirt. You tried to wiggle a bit so you could look at him, but he only hugged you tighter, wordlessly expressing his need for you to stay where you were. You stilled. “I thought I would be  _ stopping  _ bloodshed, not spilling more. Asgore... he knew differently. He knew how  _ susceptible  _ humans were to my magic. To fire.” You shivered, thinking of Jerry, of his fried skin and tortured screams. You knew what Grillby meant. “Before I could realize what was happening, I was the most powerful general in the army, taking out city after city with barely a spark.” He lifted a hand off your shoulder, holding it in front of him. You turned your head to watch his fingers. His fingers undulated, and fire easily danced between them, traipsing from one fingertip to the other,  showing their grace, but hinting at their destructive ability simultaneously. 

 

You both fell silent, watching the dancing fire solemnly. Finally, the flicks of flame died away, and he returned his hand to you, holding you close. You felt, once again, the pulsing heat of his heartbeat, and you took a deep breath, unfurling your arms from your lap and twisting till you could wrap your arms around his waist. 

 

No more words were needed. No, “i’m sorry,” or “that must have sucked.” No “I feel your pain,” or “Geesh, Asgore is a real dick-wad!” Just silence. Just silent solace in each other’s embrace, clutching to the two truths that gave you hope.

 

You’re alive, and it’s over.

 

Everything. The war. The isolation, the barrier. With everything coming to a close, everything back to normal but so  _ immensely _ different, you could continue on with your life, not unchanged, but ready to move on. You could finally put a lid on your mourning, wrap it up with a nice little bow, and set it to the side. 

 

It felt....  _ liberating! _

 

Here, you were resting on your new room-mate’s lap, sharing stories of times neither of you wished happened but were shaped by regardless, and for the first time in 700 years, you felt a weight rise off your chest; you could breathe! 

 

You inhaled a full, regretless breath at the same time as Grillby; when you breathed out, you could almost  _ feel  _ the tension and sadness flee from your body, and dissipate into the air. You would bet money on Grillby feeling exactly the same way. 

 

“Tomorrow,” Grillby started, and you hummed in response, not moving. You felt his hand leave your back, and he scratched his face lightly before returning it. “Let’s...” He paused, chewing on his words, “Go out.” 

 

“Okay.” You answered easily, pulling away from his chest to look at him. He didn’t move his arms away, but they did slide to your waist. “But right now,” You looked at him pointedly, tempted to touch his face with both your hands (His mouth! His eyes! You could  _ see  _ them!), but you resisted, placing your hands on his shoulders instead. “Right now, we eat!” You gave him a wide smile. He didn’t return it; instead, his eyes grew fractionally wider, and his mouth parted. He looked... confused? You blinked, and raised an eyebrow as he stayed silent. Finally, the white molten almonds that made his eyes disappeared, and then appeared again, as if the fire had flickered for a brief moment... Oh. He blinked. Huh. Interesting. 

 

Finally, feeling your cheeks grow red at his unmoving gaze, you looked away. “What?” You questioned, ears glowing red. 

 

“You eat?” 

 

_________________

_________________

 

For being a graceful bartender whose beautifully crafted drinks rival those of the greatest paintings, Grillby was... well... 

 

A horrible cook. 

 

You never thought! Up until this point, you interacted with Grillby too early in the morning for breakfast, and too late at night for dinner. You saw ingredients in the pantries-both up and downstairs- so you assumed he knew how to cook. The hamburger meat was always fresh, and the buns looked to be restocked regularly. The amount of potatoes he went through was  _ preposterous _ , so you assumed he  _ must _ cook not only for himself, but for his customers as well. It had tables and chairs; it couldn’t  _ just _ be a bar! So he  _ must  _ be at least  _ decent _ in a kitchen. 

 

You were wrong. 

 

You were horribly,  _ horribly  _ wrong. 

 

You  _ knew _ you were wrong when you walked into the upstairs kitchen about 30 minutes after Grillby had promised he’d cook for the two of you, and had to  _ literally _ dodge a flying potato. 

 

“What the-!?” You yelped, hands covering your head in case of extra projectiles. When none came but a frantic apology, you looked up to see Grillby scrambling out of a chair positioned in front of a trash-can, dropping a potato-peeler as he rushed after his lost potato. On the counter next to the trashcan laid 3 pretty poorly peeled potatoes (still more brown than white, and looking much more  _ angular _ than it should), and the ground and trashcan were littered with tiny little strips of Grillby’s minor successes. Your jaw dropped as Grillby rushed back into the kitchen, potato-projectile in hand now, and sat back down, beginning his toils once again. You watched as he slammed the peeler into the potato like a knife to a neck, and pushed with what you assumed was all his might. The peeler didn’t budge for a moment, and then jerked across the potato, chopping a large chunk off and flying straight through his finger (the part of his finger that would have been “chopped off” just dissipated for half a moment, and then re-appeared. It would have amazed you if you weren’t so busy trying  _ so hard _ not to laugh). 

 

You steadied yourself, biting in a laugh. “If you couldn’t cook, why did you offer to?” You questioned, taking a step into the kitchen. 

 

“I can cook.” Grillby said flatly, assaulting the poor vegetable once more. A little chunk flew into the air, and landed on the ground with a wet slap. You bit your lip harder. 

 

“Grillby-” you coo’ed, taking another step forward, ready to confiscate the sharp object from the hopeless elemental. He pulled away stubbornly. 

 

“I can cook.” He re-stated, flames on his head flickering obstinately, and you couldn’t hold in your snort this time. You continued into the kitchen until you were on the other side of the trashcan, and picked up an untouched potato. You held out your hand for him to view, and a translucent grey peeler materialized in your hand. You could do this without the peeler, and just let your magic peel the potato, but this wasn’t to get a job done, it was to teach a poor man a lesson. He huffed, flames crackling as you held the potato in your other hand, and began peeling. About 7 swift strokes later, you held out a perfectly peeled potato for his viewing pleasure. He stared at it for a few moments before resigning, placing his mess of a potato on the counter, and dropping the peeler next to it. You smiled in victory as he leaned back in his chair. “I leave the peel on for the fries...” he trailed off, and you couldn’t stop yourself from patting his head, looking around the room. On the counter a few feet down, there lay very poorly cut carrots, celery, and onions (SO many onions!); they looked like he tried to throw the vegetables onto the knife rather than cut them  _ with  _ it! Six cloves of garlic lay next to the mutilated vegetables, chopped 3 times each. Jesus, was that a whole  _ bushel  _ of bay leaves? And thyme? And... Dill!?!?! On the stove rest a pot with chunks of roast the size of your fist lying in it, doused in flour, salt and pepper, and a  _ superfluous _ amount of garlic powder. 

 

“Were you trying to make a stew?” You asked after quite a bout of silent awe. Grillby, seeming to understand just how grandly he had fucked up based on your facial features alone, nodded guiltily. You let out a harumph. 

 

“This is...” You pitied the man. Had he not chopped vegetables in his entire life? You could cry at least 5 gallons of tears with the amount of onions he had chopped! That meat was so coated in garlic powder, you couldn’t  _ see  _ it anymore! On top of that, _ six  _ more cloves of garlic? And the  _ leaves!  _

 

“What is on your menu downstairs?” You asked tentatively, worried for the answer. 

 

“....Fries. And a hamburger.” He answered slowly, and you let out a sigh of relief... and then frowned. 

 

“Two items.” You flatlined. He nodded. “You serve two items.” He nodded again. You slapped your hand to your face. “Well at least you’re not serving  _ this. _ ” You sighed, and walked to the pot of meat. You lifted the pot off the stove, and brought it to the sink. You could rinse off most of this stuff, but the garlic flavor would stay... The vegetables could be repurposed: maybe a stir-fry? You remembered seeing soy sauce in the fridge. Yeah. You could do this. “Grillby,” You said as you turned on the water over the pot. Grillby looked up at you, “Could you get the wok from that cupboard?” You pointed, and he nodded, retrieving the item. You lifted each piece of meat from the water, and let your magic get to work. The hunks of meat fell apart in your hands, now medium-thickness strips. Perfect. 

 

You began cooking, gliding about the kitchen happily, instructing Grillby to help every once in awhile. Get the butter, stir the sizzling meat. Bring you the vegetables. Clean up those goddamn potato peels. After a while, you were seated at the table with Grillby, plates of stir-fry calling both your names. 

 

When Grillby took his first bite, you could hear him hum in approval, and it filled you with pride. You took a bite of your own, and scrunched your nose. Still a little too much garlic, but you did a pretty good job with what you had. The potatoes didn’t make the cut though, and Grillby had promised to fry them later. 

 

“You’re a good cook,” Grillby said simply, placing his fork down after the last bite of the plate. 

 

“Oh really?” You asked, voice bored. “I didn’t know.” 

 

“Sass.” Grillby said simply, and you cracked a small smile. “You should cook for the restaurant.” You raised an eyebrow, standing and grabbing both your and his plates. “You’re bored all day.” He reasoned. 

 

“Not all the time,” you answered, bringing the plates to the cupboard. You heard Grillby huff, and your lips formed a tight line. 

 

“I can hear you up here during the day,” He flatlined, and you flinched. “You cleaned the kitchen for 5 hours.” 

 

“It was really dirty.” 

 

“Two days in a row.” 

 

“.....  _ Really  _ dirty.” 

 

“Come now.” Grillby stood, pushing the chairs in as you let your magic flow from your fingers, eating away at the leftover sauce and tidbits on the plates till they sparkled. You placed them back in the cupboard, and followed suit with the silverware. He walked over to your side, and leaned against the counter, staring at you. You stared back, and the contest began. 

 

How you knew it was a contest, you had no idea. You didn’t really mind cooking for the bar, but you refused to lose the staring contest for your pride. 

 

You lost, looking away with a quick, “Fine.” The crackle of joy that followed it made you think that losing wasn’t that bad. “But I get to choose the menu.” 

 

“Deal.” Grillby sounded excited. Cute. He pushed himself off the counter, and left the kitchen. You were quick to follow, and both of you flopped onto your respective sides of the couch. He snagged a book from his stash under the couch, and you curled up on your side, residing yourself to a cat-nap. You got yourself as comfortable as you could and tried to relax, but the buttons from the top of the overalls dug into your skin, and itched at your back. You grunted, and finally resorted to unhooking the buttons, and wiggled around until the upper half of your overalls bunched around your waist. With a few more grunts, you were placated, and settled once more, pouting slightly at Grillby’s laughs. 

 

“Maybe we should get you more clothing tomorrow.” He mused, and you frowned. 

 

“This is good.” 

 

“Mmm.” He fell quiet for a moment, and then, “Pants as soft as those fuzzy socks?” 

 

“Fine.” 

 

His victory smile irked you. 

 

__________

__________

 

You had forgotten about the fish woman. You had  _ completely  _ forgotten about the fish woman. So when you and Grillby casually walked out of your house, and Grillby greeted her from across the street as you locked the door, you were nearly scared out of your  _ skin _ by the screech that followed. You whipped around just in time to see her sprinting across the street, beelining straight for you. You yelped, turning back for the door and fumbling with the keys, trying to unlock the door. When you heard her yell again, you gave up, turning around and preparing yourself. 

 

A bright blue spear materialized in her hand, and your eyes grew wide. You wracked your mind for a moment before deciding on a utensil best for blocking. You outstretched your hand, and a cast-iron pan (albeit a bit grey in color) appeared in your hand. You brandished it just as she chucked the spear at you with a whoop. 

 

TWANG!

 

It slammed into your pan harder than you expected, and it took all your might to stop it from smashing your face. your feet skidded back till they hit the door behind you, and you almost dropped your pan. You recovered, looking at where she stopped a good 10 feet from you, holding another spear. 

 

Why was she attacking you!?!?! 

 

She chucked another spear, and you held your pan steady, ready to knock it aside instead of block it this time. 

 

WHAM! You smacked it to the side, and it disappeared before it lodged into the side of your house. Thank. God. 

 

“Aww c’mon! That’s no fun!!” the fish woman shouted, stomping her foot dramatically. “Stop blocking! C’mon! Fight me!!! I know you can!!!!!” Another spear was chucked in your direction, and you prepared yourself for another block. You were getting tired though; the spears came at an intense velocity, and you hadn’t moved like this in over 700 years. You let out a heavy huff, and prepared yourself again. The spear stopped in it’s tracks before it reached you, plucked straight out of the air by Grillby’s hand. You watched the muscles in his shoulder and arm tense, and his fist clenched against the spear, shattering it into blue sparkles of magic. Both you and the fish woman froze, the fish woman gaping at the roaring flames that spat from Grillby’s head and hands. He was staring at the fish woman, arm dropping to his side pointedly.

 

“Leave.” He said to her, and she unfroze, pouting now. 

 

“But Grillby! Alphys’ said that Asgor-”

 

“Undyne,” Grillby threatened, and Undyne (?) stomped her feet to the ground again. 

 

“C’mon Grillby! I gotta fight her! You know I gotta!” 

 

“No.” 

 

“But she’s so STRONG, Grillby!” She complained. 

 

“No.” 

 

“GRILLBY! C’MON!” She held her hands out in front of her and her mouth gaped. You blinked. She looked like a whining  _ kid! _

 

“No.” 

 

“I just wanna see if she’s as strong as Asgore sai-” 

 

“No!” Grillby almost shouted, swinging his hand in her general direction. A little wisp of fire left his hand, and flew toward her, nicking her face and burning her cheek. 

 

“Ow ow! Okay! Damn, you didn’t have to burn me! Can I at least meet her?” 

 

“N-” You tugged on Grillby’s shirt slightly, and he fell silent, looking down at you. You gave him a quick nod before looking at Undyne. She was buff, yeah, and terrifying, but anyone who whined like she did couldn’t be  _ that _ bad (if a little annoying). Her face lit up at your nod, and she gave you the widest smile you’d ever seen. 

 

“Fuck yeah! Veto’ed by the Silky!” She nearly jumped for joy and waved at you, “Hey dork! I’m Undyne! I’m your neighbor!” 

 

“... I know.” You tried to keep your anxiety down, but this woman was  _ attacking  _ you nearly seconds ago. 

 

Undyne faltered for a moment, “Ah. Right... You saw me before... Uhh.. Sorry for, you know, scaring you.”

 

“...It’s okay. I’m sorry for...” You looked at the ground, “running...” 

 

“I’d run too, nerd!” She shouted, and you looked up again. She was flexing. “I’m one SUPER STRONG woman! Men can’t handle my level of awesome!” You laughed. She was a total dork! An adorable dork! “Anyway, It’s nice to formally meet you! I’ve wanted to actually meet you since I saw you that one day, but you never came outside!” She laughed heartily, “You’re worse than Alphys! That’s kind of scary!” You raised an eyebrow, vaguely remembering Undyne mentioning “Alphys” before. Undyne glanced down at you, and her face froze for a moment. “Ah!” She started again, “You don’t know who Alphys is! Well! She’s my-”

 

Undyne was interrupted by Grillby’s flames flaring up for a moment, crackling and popping. You and Undyne stopped your conversation, looking over at him. “We should be going,” he said flatly, and you paused. Undyne raised an eyebrow. This only caused him to look away sharply, filling you with confusion. Undyne, on the other hand, seemed to get some sort of signal that you had missed, as her mouth dropped open a bit, and then slowly morphed into a smile. 

 

“Ooh!” She said meaningfully, and you watched Grillby flinch. Why did he flinch? “I see.” Undyne continued, and her tone of voice confused you. What did she see? Undyne leaned forward, jeering at Grillby, “Well then.” she let the words roll of her tongue. As she did, Grillby’s flames grew more erratic, and you could see some blue blooming in the center of his face. “I thought flames were red, not  _ green _ .” 

 

...Huh???

 

“Undyne.” Grillby warned. 

 

“Although I do see a little blue, so maybe you  _ can _ be green!” She let out a whoop of laughter, and slapped Grillby on the back (you were impressed to see him not move an inch despite the resounding ‘thud’ from her powerful smack). 

 

“Undyne.” He sounded more like a father in that utterance. It made you wonder just how many different ways he could say her name. 

 

“You jelly, bro?” ...jelly?

 

“Undyne!” Huh. That one was frustrated and... embarrassed? 

“Whaaaatt?” She leaned over to you, swinging an arm over your shoulder and pulling you close, practically smashing your face into her side as she coddled you. “She’s just so small and cute and POWERFUL!” Her smile turned something wicked as she wrapped both her arms around you, and took a mocking step away from him. “I’m keeping her.” 

 

“Undyne!” Oh. Yeah that one was mad. He was mad. You barely had enough time to squeak when Grillby swung for you, and Undyne jumped back, still clutching you to her side with an iron grip. Undyne danced backwards by a few steps, and gave Grillby a beaming smile. 

 

“You gotta fight me for her!” She shouted, and you froze up. 

 

You had to fight them for her. You had to fight them.. For her... You had to fight! 

 

You lifted the pan still summoned in your hand, and bashed it against the nearest kneecap. “OW! FUCK!” Undyne shouted and collapsed onto one knee, her grip loosening on you. Your adrenaline spiked, mind spinning and jumping. The arms of enemies wrapped around you. Cold hands. Instinct. Your breath grew labored as you lifted the heavy pan once more, and bashed her other knee until your captor’s hands released you completely; you scrambled to your feet, and immediately whipped around, bracing your pan to finish the job. Before you swung, you noticed the woman’s face in front of you. Pain, and stunned surprise, but no terror. You faltered. No terror. No fear. 

 

No fear. You had... the pan slackened in your hand as your tunnel vision faded, revealing the world around you once more. There was no blood. No bodies, no humans. Just a frozen Undyne in front of you, and a flaming hand pressed worriedly on your shoulder, a comforting voice calling your name. You blinked, breath filling your lungs once more, and the pan dematerialized completely, leaving your empty hands to drop from their attacking position to your sides. “I..” you uttered, eyes wide. You couldn’t... You couldn’t explain what just happened. Grillby said your name again. Your heart clenched. You had almost just  _ killed _ the woman you just met. Your breath hitched in your throat, and if you weren’t frozen in place, you would have bolted back to the house and phased through the door, never to return. You felt another hand touch your upper back, and you gained  _ some  _ comfort out of it, but you were still freaking out. 

 

You had just gone outside sucessfully, and talked to someone other than Grillby successfully, and then you had to go and rui-

 

“THAT WAS AWESOME!!!!” Undyne jumped from her kneeling position on the floor, grabbing both your hands in hers and nearly touching her nose to yours. “I KNEW YOU WERE A GREAT FIGHTER!” She yelled in your face, her eye sparkling in awe, “I THOUGHT I WAS GONNA DIE!” She was literally  _ shaking _ in excitement. “YOU  _ ARE  _ LIKE ASGORE SAID YOU WERE!” Her yelling had successfully yanked you out of your fear, and thrust you into her own world of excitement. Her hands left yours, and instead wrapped themselves in the front of your overalls, lifting you off the ground. “YOU HAVE TO FIGHT ME!” 

 

“Uhh,” you uttered, and quickly shot a glance over your shoulder, frantically looking for help of  _ any _ kind. You caught Grillby’s eye, and he nodded to you, pointing at the phone in his other hand. “Uhh,” was all you could respond with. 

 

“Undyne!” a new voice shouted, and both you and your aggressor turned toward Undyne’s house. A small dinosaur, Alphys you assumed, stood in the doorway of the house. Undyne flinched at her name, and then let out an annoyed sigh. 

 

“Whaaaaaatttt” she whined, and you blinked, still suspended in mid-air, still  _ very  _ confused. Alphys marched across the street, half-shouting all the way. 

 

“Y-You can’t j-just go picking f-fight with our neighb-bors!” She reached the other side of the street as Undyne finally set you down. 

 

“Aw, c’mon Alphys! She was in the WARRRR!!!!” Undyne was gesturing wildly between you and Alphys, but Alphys, thank god, was just shaking her head in horror. 

 

“Undyne! You c-c-can't j-just do that!” 

 

“WHY NOT!?!?!”   
  


“CUZ IT’S RUDE!” Alphys shouted back, making Undyne jump. Alphys reached up to Undyne, and snagged her by her ear-fin, pulling the larger woman down to her height. “Y-you just m-met her!” 

 

“Well duh!” Undyne rolled her eyes, attempting to tug herself free of Alphys grasp, but wincing when Alphys claw just tightened. You took a hesitant step back, away from the whirlwind that was that...couple? Couple. 

 

“N-not duh! Undyne, sh-she’s...” the little dinosaur huffed a sigh, “Look, w-we’ll talk about t-this at h-home, o-okay?” Alphys responded anxiously, and Undyne pouted. Taking that as best as she could, Alphys turned to you. “I-i-i’m s-sorry, sh-she doesn’t q-q-quite know....” She gave Undyne a side glare, “p-p-proper s-social et-t-t-...etiquette.” 

 

“I DO TOO!” 

 

“Uhh, it’s okay” you responded, backing up a bit more. You had to admit that this duo was...cute... but they were also very energetic. You could admit that you were extremely overwhelmed, and still reeling from your flashback a while ago. In your backing up, you bumped into Grillby, who in response, placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. You relaxed a bit, and swallowed, steeling yourself to speak with Alphys. She at least seemed easier to talk to than Undyn-

 

Alphys was staring at you now, eyes wide as dinner plates, completely silent, mouth hanging open. Yup there goes your words, and here comes the anxiety again. Why was she staring at you like that? You reached up and placed your hand over Grillby’s, grounding yourself with his presence. 

 

The next few moments happened too quickly for you to quite process. Alphys had let out an  _ ungodly _ squeak, nearly jumped 6 inches into the air, grinned as if she had just seen an angel, and then dragged Undyne across the street, the yard, and into their house, slamming the door behind them, all the while yelling something about...boats?...

 

You stood there in the wake of what was...  _ them _ ... awestruck in the middle of the sidewalk. You saw Grillby lift his other hand to his face and pinch his nose, crackling a bit more than usual. You chewed on your words for a moment before, “Are they... always like that?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“...Oh...” you thought for a few more moments before, “Does it get easier to socialize with them when you know them better?” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Oh. Okay.” 

 

It was silent once more, both of you recovering from the tag team assault of your neighbors before Grillby spoke up again. “So... shopping?” 

 

“...Yeah. Shopping.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Undyne sitting there with a frying-pan in her face. just picture that scene from One Punch Man, when Saitama boops Saitamas nose after their kick ass fight. Yeah. Undyne. For just a moment there. 
> 
> YAY FINALLY HAPPY STUFF! I'm pretty stoked for the next part of this story. I had a bit of writers block this chapter (drinking did not help like my drunk self thought it would), but i'm satisfied with the outcome of this chapter. 
> 
> I have plans for Undyne. 
> 
>  
> 
> Grillky.tumblr.com  
> so remember to check out that fanart! it stoked me to high heavens, and i think you'll like it! 
> 
> If anyone's curious to see the music I listen to as i write... here's 228 songs.  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL19TxdA3niW6-s4ZZtaJamTn8D1_7ooPN
> 
> ONE LAST THING!  
> THIS ISN'T IMPORTANT I JUST HAVE TO GET THIS OUT  
> I'M CELEBRATING MY 3 YEAR ANNIVERSARY WITH MY SIGNIFICANT OTHER THIS SUNDAY  
> I HAVE NO MONEY TO GET HIM ANYTHING  
> WHAT  
> DO  
> I  
> DO????


	8. Corsets were not invented until the 1600's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clothing and dresses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a filler, kind of not? I dunno. I felt it was necessary.  
> Bejessus I'm so sick. I wanna die. 
> 
> Art ya'all!!!  
> http://ladyofcold.tumblr.com/post/139465421577/grillky-i-was-trying-to-sleep-but-then-i-started  
> http://windharmony.tumblr.com/post/139292873496/here-take-this-piece-of-garbage-ive-been  
> http://tinadotexe.tumblr.com/post/139332111905/in-our-bedroom-after-the-war-sweet-jesus-this-took  
> http://sai-yah.tumblr.com/post/139281104238/quick-doodle-i-did-for-a-grillby-story-im-reading
> 
> Tumblr, Ya'all!  
> Grillky.tumblr.com
> 
> I'd put something about support and kudos and comments and stuff, but honestly i'm so sick I'm surprised I can write THIS.

You walked close to Grillby. Shoulder to shoulder, really, bumping into him on a regular basis. It was difficult not to when every other person walking by set you on edge, and you found yourself curling into what was familiar constantly; in this case, it was Grillby. Good thing he didn’t really seem to mind. You swore you heard him chuckle a few times, but you deliberately ignored it. Monsters would pass by with kind greetings, and you’d shrink back with a minimal wave and a half-smile. As the walk continued on, your anxiety ebbed away, and you found yourself walking side by side with Grillby rather than zig-zagging into his shoulder. 

 

Grillby told you that the shop was about 3 miles away, and the last mile would be in a more heavily populated area. The clothing shop was somewhere in the melting pot between the monster designated town, and the Human town. You locked that piece of information in the back of your mind, wondering if you’d see a human today. It was 2 miles in, just as Grillby said, when the streets morphed from a passing straggler here and there to a steady stream of people. They were still very friendly, but you found yourself jostled here and there simply by the masses of monsters. As you walked, Grillby told you that this area was so busy because it had just been opened to the Monsters, and everyone was scrambling to make it into a home.

 

You felt your previously lessened anxiety returning as you were tugged back and forth by the masses. You were jostled and apologized to an uncountable amount of times, but you only freaked out when you noticed you were separating from Grillby. Panicking, you reached out and grabbed the back of his shirt. He stopped, and, using your grip on his shirt as an anchor, you pulled yourself back to him. He looked behind himself at you, and you gave him a quick nod, telling him you were fine; your fingers clutched his shirt hard enough to turn your entire hand white. Grillby’s flames puffed a bit as he let out a chuckle. He turned around a bit, and pried your fingers from his shirt before tightly wrapping his hand around yours. 

 

It was warm. The blanket-left-to-roast-in-the-sun warm. You liked it, and it calmed your nerves a bit. You told yourself it was because you wouldn’t get separated from him. 

 

You continued walking on, hand now entwined with Grillby’s. After a while, Grillby tugged you to the side, and you followed, stopping in front of a quaint looking shop. You looked above the door. “Tooth’s Tailor!” It read, exclamation point included. Grillby opened the door for you and ushered you inside. With one last look at the outside bustle, you stepped through the door, him quick behind. The noise of outside petered away as the door clicked shut. You could hear some soft music, and immediately looked around the room for a musician. You couldn’t find them. Huh. Must be in a different room or something. How odd, you’d think you’d want to  _ advertise  _ that you have music... You huffed, steeling yourself to find the musician by the end of the visit. They were quite skilled in the violin! 

 

Grillby squeezed your hand gently, shaking you from your thoughts. You look up at him curiously, and he nods his head toward the shop. You blink, and then realize he wants you to look around. So you do, turning your head and looking at the actual shop rather than the regular places a musician would be. Your mouth formed a little “o” as you looked around. There were clothes galore! You could see dresses, and jeans, and blouses, and  _ soap and grime  _ was that shirt  _ glittering?!?!?  _

 

You almost squealed as you dashed forward, dragging Grillby with you across the store, toward the  _ glittering  _ cloth. Grillby chuckled as he let himself get dragged across the store, watching your hair bob up and down as you scurried across the floor. He looked over to the owner of the shop, a monster made 90% of teeth and currently looking up from a relatively large book, and gave them a shrug. The monster’s mouth pulled into a knowing smile as you reached the incriminating shirt. 

 

It was magic. It  _ had  _ to be magic. You reached it, snagging it in your hand and nearly gasping as it shimmered in the light. “Oh...” You breathed, letting go of Grillby’s hand to grab it with both hands, pulling it taut between your fingers. It  _ stretched!  _ “Oh!” You yipped, yanking it off it’s hanger as you whipped around, showing it to Grillby. It was amazi-

 

He didn’t look amazed, but rather entertained. Oh. Right. It  _ had  _ been 700 years. This must be some older discovery. He was probably already used to it. Right. You deflated, giving him a half-sad, half-guilty smile before putting the shirt back. You pat it a few times before diverting your eyes elsewhere, face slowly burning red. 

 

“Hey,” you heard Grillby say, and you returned your gaze to him. You saw a flicker of his smile, and you couldn’t stop yourself from returning it. It was rare to see him smile, to see that white fissure split across his face and fill your heart with the warmth it emitted. He motioned with his finger for you to follow him, and then turned, walking away. You followed close behind as he weaved through a few aisles before pausing. He looked over to the owner of the shop, “Jackets?” He asked, and the monster looked up from a book, pointing to the far left corner. Grillby nodded in thanks, and made his way over. He stopped in front of the rack of jackets, and pulled one off, facing it toward you as you stopped behind him. 

 

What was-

 

It had these... teeth...things... on either side of the opening? Where were the buttons? You reached out, running your fingers over the “teeth.” They were small, cold, black, and not the most attractive things. You would never wear something like that for decoration. They felt cool against your fingers, though, so you trailed down the jacket until you reached a small  _ gizmo _ attached to one side of the teeth. You blinked, pinching it between your fingers. It was small, almost oval, and had a little handle-thing sticking out of it. The handle was small enough to hide between your thumb and pointer, and when you pulled up and down, it moved up and down the teeth. Huh. 

 

Grillby chuckled again, and you frowned, pouting up at him. He was laughing at you! He shook his head, still chuckling, before he shifted the jacket in his hands, and grabbed the little doohickey on the teeth. He dragged it to the bottom of the teeth, and did something with the bottom.... He pulled the little gizmo up now and...

 

BLASPHEMY!!! 

 

You recoiled, eyes wide as the two sides of the jacket  _ melded  _ together. You gasped, yanking the jacket from Grillby’s hands, and grabbing the little thing between your fingers. You pulled up, the jacket melded. You pulled down, the jacket separated. 

 

What. 

 

What!?

 

Your eyes shot to Grillby, who had embers popping out from the top of his head as he laughed, covering his face with a hand. “Grillby!” You whisper-shouted, and he only laughed a bit harder, waving his hand at you. 

 

“Sorry,” He managed, the fissure of his mouth appearing and splitting into a grin. “Sorry,” He repeated, reaching out and grabbing the jacket. “It’s a zipper.” You looked up at him, confused, slightly offended (?), and impatient. “A zipper,” He repeated, putting the jacket back on the rack. “I didn’t think you’d be-” He cut himself short with more laughs, and finally took a few breaths to calm himself down. “It’s a zipper.” He finishes, chortling a few more times. 

 

“Yes, I got that,” You pouted, staring at the jackets. Technology. 

 

Grillby cleared his throat, and straightened his shirt a bit. “So,” He looked away, white crossing the bridge of his face, still trying to recompose himself. Finally, he waved to the store in general, “....Get what you want.” He said, his smile hiding behind his flames once more. You already missed it, but you obliged, looking around the store once again. 

 

The next couple of hours consisted of Grillby sitting by the dressing room with a book Tooth had offered him, looking up only when you popped out to show him a different outfit. You had to admit that most of the outfits you did not want to buy, but at least wanted to try on. You HAD to try a dress with one of those “zippers” all the way down the back. They were so  _ convenient!  _ Also all the sparkly shirts had to be worn at least once. The stretchy stuff? Oh hell yes. 

 

Most of the time, you came out of the dressing room in some odd get up just to show Grillby how  _ amazing  _ this was, or how  _ fantastic  _ that was. You twirled around in pleated skirts, gawked at dresses cut above the ankle, giggled at “tennis shoes,” and tromped around in one of those pairs of pants that had the zipper-off able bottoms to make it shorts. Technology was  _ amazing!!!  _

 

Grillby watched with more than just minor amusement as you would scamper off to one corner of the store, and come rushing back with some see-thru fabric, wiggling it in front of him and whispering wonderment in his ear. He watched as you let yourself go, holding the see-through slip of a dress over your head and looking at him through it with a big grin. 

 

He realized how much of a dork you were. 

 

He also realized how much he loved it. You were so quiet, calm, and closed off most of the time. It was almost shocking to see you here, in an empty store filled with “wonders beyond your imagination,” sharing your mirth with little old him. He chuckled with you, letting you put a fish-net stocking on top of his head, and laughing at your face when his flames flicked through the holes, and did not burn the fabric. He “ooh’d” and “aahh’d” when you came out wearing a flapper-like dress, twirling around in circles and watching the glittering sequins scatter the light coming from your favorite fire-man. 

 

He even humored you when you came up with a flame-print leather jacket and begged him to try it on (He had to admit he looked pretty dashing in it... He set it aside for purchase). 

 

It was only after you had  gone through every possible sparkling garment and zippered dress in the store (and after putting them all away) that you finally began searching for clothing to actually  _ wear. _ Curiosity satisfied, you began perusing the different racks, imagining the monsters that had walked by outside a while ago. Yeah. You could totally do this “fashion” thing... You grabbed a few pairs of jeans, and some shirts, both simple and a bit more fancy. You paused for a moment before grabbing a couple skirts and dresses as well. Better be well-rounded. Also, you had no idea what would fit or not. Most of the time, you just wore that one perfectly fitted dress, and Gosren stitched it whenever it got messed up. Now you had to pick from  _ already fitted _ clothing? Bleaugh. 

 

You began walking back to the dressing rooms, arms laden with cloth when something caught your eye. You twisted your head, and stopped, curiosity piqued by a pleated grey to your left. You set your pile of clothing down, and reached out, pulling the hangar from the rack, and letting out a soft gasp. 

 

It was a dress. A sleeveless, fluttering A-line cut dress. It looked like it would fall to a little above your ankles, and twitter about them with a soft breeze. It had two parts, one sheath underneath, and a see through slip over the top. The upper half of the dress was a medium grey, matching the calm color of your magic, but it was the bottom that took your breath away. Flames, dark and rich, flicked about the see through section of the dress, licking from where your ankles to your knees would be. You shook the dress in your hands a bit, and the flames moved independently from the base of the dress, making them seem  _ alive _ . 

 

...

 

You had to show Grillby. 

 

You hid the dress in the center of your pile of clothing, and scurried to the dressing room, patting Grillby on the shoulder as you went. He looked up from the book and gave you a soft hum of acknowledgement. 

 

The next hour consisted of trying on clothing, tossing out what didn’t fit (or was ugly), modeling and deciding on what you liked (and hated), and whittling down your pile to a few tops and bottoms, a light summer dress, and a pair of pj’s. Grillby was patient, nodding or shaking his head when you came out wearing different ensembles, and even raising an eyebrow when you wore something that went together  _ perfectly. _

 

There was an awkward moment when you tried on a shirt that was a bit more tight fitting. In the stall, you twisted left and right, smiling at how the shirt didn’t flop around your middle. This would be nice for mopping. It did hug your chest a little tight though, and you wondered if you needed a cloth to wrap around your chest. It was odd, seeing a piece of clothing that was tight enough to hug your form,  _ and  _ thin enough to reveal your breasts. There were a few thinner dresses in the 1300’s that you did not favor. You wore them around the house before Gerson moved in, but the moment your house was filled with a man, you asked Gosren to help you. She had stitched you a little cloth wrap-around that you wore with the thinner dresses, just to hide your, ah, ladybits. 

 

But this shirt was something completely different. The cloth slip (that you had hidden under the couch, just as all your other minimal belongings) would look bulky and odd under this shirt. Maybe promiscuity was a fashion thing now? What if you were supposed to wear this  _ over  _ something? 

 

“Grillby?” You questioned, unlocking the stall and popping your head out. He looked up. “Do females have a cloth strip or a thicker wrap around for their chest area for these...ahh...” You felt your face heating up a bit, “ _ thinner  _ shirts?” You chewed on your lip. Grillby stared at you for a moment before his face spurted out puffs of smoke, and the flames atop his head doubled in size. He coughed, then nodded, covering the bottom half of his face with his hand. You, face just as red, sighed in relief. “Where can I find them?” 

 

“Not... here...” Grillby admitted, staring at a  _ fascinating  _ corner in the room. 

 

“Not here?” You questioned, and Grillby nodded, face slowly changing from his usual oranges to blue... then white... 

 

“It’s a different store.” 

 

“Oh.” You paused for a moment, “Well then... I’ll just... take this off...” And you slinked back into the stall, hoping to just.. pretend that didn’t happen. 

 

Grillby seemed to come to the same consensus, and both of you ignored what happened, continuing on with your fitting.

 

He noticed that you kind of favored the colors green and grey, and avoided red. He couldn't stop his mind from wondering what you would look like in the different shades of fire... his face flushed at the thought, and he dismissed it. You didn’t have a lick of warm colors in that giant pile of clothing. Finally, you dropped your small pile of clothing in front of him with a satisfied grin, and he nodded, closing his book and preparing to stand. He stopped, though, when you put a hand in the center of his chest. He looked at you, and flickered when he saw the giddy smile on your face. 

 

“One more!” You nearly jumped in place before bolting back into the dressing room. Grillby confusedly sat back down, listening intently to the shuffle and scuffle of cloth coming from your stall. Finally, he heard you let out an excited huff, and then slam the door open. 

 

He froze.

 

There you were, standing in front of him in the colors he had just been fantasiz-..wondering about you wearing, smiling at him like you had discovered the best thing since sliced bread. 

 

He could feel his heart skip 2 beats at a time as you swung your hips from side to side, letting the fire lick at your bottom half. His face doubled in temperature as you beamed at him, the dress tightly hugging your form and making you look... look... 

 

He cleared his throat and leaned back, trying to think of something to say. He didn’t get the chance. 

 

“IT’S ON FIRE!” You practically yelled, bouncing up and down as you closed the 4 feet between the two of you, grabbing the see through slip and lifting it up to his hands. “Look look!” Your voice had dropped to just above a whisper, but your excitement only grew, “It’s see through so the fire looks like it’s  _ alive _ and when I move around it actually looks like it’s moving too and it looks like your head when you’re happy and  _ Grillby  _ it’s so  _ cool!”  _ You were jittering, and he was still at a loss for words, pretty sure this was the most you’d talked (besides your life story) at one time. Finally, you calmed down a bit, still flapping the flame-print fabric around and watching it move. “Sorry, sorry,” You laughed, “I just really wanted to show you this, I’ll put it away.” You didn’t sound disappointed at putting the dress away: just satisfied, like it  _ was  _ all you wanted to show him the dress. 

 

“No,” Grillby said softly, still watching you. “You can get it.” He looked away, face still bright. 

 

You paused, thinking. It  _ was  _ a beautiful dress, but rather impractical. You remembered one of Gosren’s most used phrases when the two of you were out and about the market. 

 

_ “Now when would I ever use that? Listen, _______, remember this tip. If you can’t put it to use at least once a month, it ain’t worth it!” _

 

_ “Well that explains the wedding dress!”  _

 

_ “Gerson!”  _

 

You chuckled at the memory, heart growing sad for only a moment. “No,” you said thoughtfully, “I don’t need it.” With that, you stepped back into the stall (missing Grillby’s look of disappointment), changed out of the dress, and returned to Grillby. You gave him a smile lifting your little pile of clothing. “Ready!” You smiled, and he nodded, standing up. You walked ahead of him to the cashier, and placed your pile of clothing on the counter. 

 

Grillby stayed behind, stepping into the stall and grabbing the dress. He rolled it up into a tight ball, and then turned toward the front. He made eye-contact with the owner, pointed at the dress, then pointed at you, then a thumbs up. The monster nodded, understanding their new “mission,” and casually added the dress to the tab without telling you. Grillby nodded in thanks, and met you at the counter. The monster, who had finished ringing up your clothing a while ago, bagged the articles and handed the bag to Grillby. Grillby gave  _ you  _ his wallet. Confused, you withdrew the needed money, and paid the owner as Grillby stealthily stuffed the dress to the bottom of the bag, covering it with your other purchases. The owner gave you your change and a large smile, and you thanked him, putting the change back into the wallet before turning to Grillby. Grillby looked down at you calmly as you handed him back his wallet. 

 

Mission accomplished. 

__________________

__________________

 

Grillby was both surprised and not surprised when you took the bag from him, and let your grey magic consume it. Once the bag was fully covered, it disappeared, and you assured him that it would be waiting safely at home. He revelled in the convenience, and then the two of you were on your way to your next destination. 

 

The moment you walked through the door, Grillby offered you his hand. You took it, entwining your fingers through his, and letting out a small hum at the warmth. His fingers were longer than yours, and  _ never sweaty. _ It was great. 

 

You stepped into the chaos that was the sidewalk, and Grillby guided you to the right. You kept close as he weaved through the masses. You looked up; the sun was nearing the horizon now, and you wondered offhandedly what the streets looked like at night. All these buildings had these magic signs that lit up, and you wondered if it made the street really bright at night. 

 

Hopefully you’d get to see. 

 

Grillby stopped at the corner of the corner of the street, giving you time to stare at the giant poles that hung over the streets, with those rectangular  _ box things  _ that lit up every once in awhile. You wondered what those boxes meant, what their little circle lights served purpose for, but you let it go when Grillby started walking again, crossing the street. You tagged along, half walking side by side, half being dragged as you stopped almost every 10 seconds to stare at something. 

 

Glowing signs, giant poles sticking out of the ground and brandishing glass orbs at the tip (Magic?), something  _ very  _ loud soaring overhead (you had yelped, and and searched for cover, sure something horrible was about to happen, but Grillby had assured you everything was fine. He called the thing a “Plane,” and said it carried hundreds of humans to really far places. You couldn’t help but be both amazed and impressed.  _ Flying humans!...  _ actually that thought terrified you. You were terrified). You were slightly confused to watch all these different monsters walking around with one hand to their ear, talking to no one. You copied them for a while, covering your ear with your free hand, wondering if someone would start talking to you. 

 

No one did. You were disappointed. 

 

Finally, Grillby pulled you into another shop, and you were sad to wave the outside world goodbye again. You stepped into the store, and froze at the... frilly-ness of the entire inside. How rich was this place, to have lace  _ everywhere _ ? And not just white lace, but red and blue and purple! You heard Grillby cough next to you, and you looked up to see his face laced with blue again. You raised an eyebrow, and he looked away. “You... uhh...” He tried to address you, but for some reason couldn’t. 

 

Instead, he walked you to the front counter. This store was a bit more populated, seemingly mostly with monster women, and they all looked at Grillby; half of them had confused expressions on their face, the other half looked... proud? Grillby reached the front, releasing your hand and rang a little bell. You waited with him for a few moments before someone came walking out of the back. 

 

It was a cat. A very nervous, shaking, creepily happy cat. “Sorry for the wait, Valued Customer!” He said, the largest smile plastered on his face. It scared you. He seemed to be looking straight through you both as he prattled on; his eyes looked dead. “Welcome to the  _ fantastic _ MTT-Brand Womens Lingerie, created for  _ all  _ shapes and siz- oh.” He seemed to finally actually  _ notice  _ Grillby, and his face immediately dropped the horrifying smile. “It’s just you,” he drawled now. You felt your chest relax. He was much more bearable now. “Heya, Grillby,” He sniffed, dipping into his pocket and pulling out a small box.  Grillby nodded to him as he flipped the box open and pulled out a little white cylinder. He popped the yellow tip of the cylinder between his lips, and leaned forward. “Gimme a light?” Grillby crossed his arms. The cat frowned...err... frowned deeper... “C’mon, my man, don’t gimme that look. I know it’s bad for me.” Grillby did not move, and the cat let out a sigh, drooping his head. “I  _ need  _ this, man. Mettaton transferred me to a  _ lingerie  _ store! I’m sure he’s trying to break me.” He was half-whimpering now, and you felt bad for the guy. Grillby let out a little huff, and then flicked his finger upward. A little flame sped through the air, wrapping around the tip of the cylinder. The cat leaned away from Grillby now, sucking in. The tip of the cylinder lit, glowing red even without Grillby’s flame, and the cat let out a sigh. 

 

What the!?!? 

 

Smoke blew from his mouth and nose, twirling upward before seemingly disappearing into the air. You had to stop yourself from snatching the stick from his lips. Was he setting his insides on  _ fire???  _ He  _ needed  _ that???? 

 

You turned to Grillby for an explanation, and he only shrugged. You huffed, tightlipped. The cat finally acknowledged you, eyes growing wide and lips parting a bit. The stick didn’t fall from his mouth, but seemed to hang precariously from his bottom lip. “Woah,” He breathed, smoke trailing around his face. He looked you up and down, mesmerized, and you blinked, feeling your chest begin to tighten a bit. “H-hey,” He stuttered now, scratching the back of his neck. “N-names B-burgerpants.” He held out a hand, and you hesitantly took it. He shook it (nervously from both your and his side), and gave you a twitching smile (You returned it shakily). “You’re hot-I mean Uhh!... It’s nice to meet you!” He was sweating now, both from his mess up, and from the sudden sparking from the elemental next to you. Like air bubbles in a fireplace, Grillby popped and crackled. Burgerpants’ creepy smile returned, and the tightness in your chest increased. “Welcome to, uhh, you here for, uhh, how can I, uhh...” His face grew red, still holding your hand. You weren't sure what to do. Do you keep holding his hand? Do you let go? Do you say something back? YOu didn’t want to, you felt like your words were stuck in your throat. This guy seemed nice enough, but... You hadn’t spoken to anyone but Gerson and Grillby. Were you expected to talk now to this guy? You felt hot. Was it hot?Grillby’s crackling seemed louder. Was it louder? You didn’t know. 

 

Finally, Burgerpants released your hand, scratched the back of his head, and laughed. “I, uhh, I’ll go get you someone to help... with... y’know.” 

 

“Thank you,” Grillby said, words cutting through the air like blades. They stabbed at Burgerpants, and he flinched away, ducking to the back with a shaky wave. The tension in your chest ebbed away a bit, and you lifted a hand to wave back, but were a little too late; he was already gone. Now that you were a bit calmer, you noted that Grillby really  _ was  _ crackling a bit more than normal. You reached out, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it lightly. His gaze flickered to you, and you gave him a nervous smile. He squeezed back, tighter than normal, and both your and his shoulders relaxed. 

 

Not for long, though. 

 

“O. M. G!” You jumped at the sudden volume increase as a much larger purple cat came bolting out from the back. “You ARE hot!” She squealed, almost jumping over the counter to reach you. Grillby released your hand in a hurry. She scurried around the counter, reaching forward and snagging your shoulders, patting your arms as she looked you up and down. “WOW!” She nearly yelled in your face, “You’re so... wow!” She was smiling from ear to ear, sharp teeth glinting in the light. She was high energy, yes, but you didn’t feel as tense around her as you did Burgerpants. She seemed more... friendly. Her nametag said “Catty,” and you thought that even her name sounded chipper. Her smile, although no comparison to Grillby’s, calmed the rough edges of your psyche, and you felt yourself smile at her. “Oh girl, I’m gonna take  _ good  _ care of you!” She squealed, and you were suddenly being dragged across the store to the fitting rooms. She tossed you into one and closed it before scurrying away. Grillby worriedly followed, stopping outside the stall you were shoved into, and knocking once. 

 

“m’fine,” You mumbled; Grillby wasn’t fully convinced, but he sat down nearby anyway. He watched as the cat-monster trapesed around the store, grabbing bra after bra, in all sizes and patterns. He looked away when she reached the more frilly area, and coughed a few times. “You okay?” He heard your voice from behind the stall door, and he hummed in response. You fell silent. 

 

A few moments later, Catty came rushing over, hands full to the brim with different undergarments. She knocked once on the door, and waited. There was a small click, and the door was opened by a hesitant crack. That was all Catty needed; she strong-armed her way into the stall, and slammed it shut behind her. The sounds that followed had Grillby standing and hovering by the stall in worry. 

 

“What is  _ that?”  _

 

“OMG girl you need serious help. Take off your shirt.” 

 

“What?” 

 

“Take it off!!” 

 

“Hey! Sto-Ahh! Stop!” 

 

“Like, Calm down, I’m just doing my job! Here, let's try this one first!” 

 

“What IS that!?!?” 

 

“OMG it’s a bra, sweetie! Just put it on!” 

 

“Wait. Wait! What are you- is that  _ metal? There’s metal in this clothing?”  _

 

_ “  _ OMG you are so lucky you weren’t around in the corset age. It’s just, like, a clasp! C’mon, just put it on!”

 

“........” 

 

“Like. Go ahead. I wanna see it on you!” 

 

“.............How?” 

 

“Oh. My. God. C’mere.” 

 

______________

______________

 

Grillby didn’t need a book this time. You were in there with Catty for at least 2 hours, and he couldn’t help but listen into the conversation. It was minimal, considering your ability to talk to strangers, and most of the time you  _ did  _ talk was just outrage at one of the items she wanted you to try on. It was funny though. Slightly embarrassing, but hilarious. 

 

You raged about metal in clothing. You gasped at stretchy straps. You “oooh’d” at the puffiness of a push-up bra, and yelped when one of the straps slapped against your skin. You had a rather heated debate with Catty about her bringing in things that were ridiculously extravagant, and your wish to not spend more than you life's saving on the “Breast Traps.” Catty argued in response that just because it was lacy didn’t mean it was expensive. The silence of disbelief that followed made Grillby chuckle. 

 

Finally, the stall opened and you walked out fully clothed, frowning and shifting your new undergarment. Catty followed with a small bag and a proud grin. “Well!” She beamed, “That’s it! Just, like, take this stuff to Burgerpants, and you’re good to go!” Grillby stood up, nodding once, and walking to you. He placed a hand on your shoulder, and you looked up, displeased. 

 

“I want to go home.” You complained, and he chuckled. 

 

“We will. Just one more stop,” He urged, and you grunted in response, eyebrows pulling together. He pat your shoulder a few times, and you relented, giving him a little sigh. 

 

“Fine.” 

 

“Wait,” Catty interrupted, pointing between the two of you. “You two  _ live  _ together?” You both nodded. Her grin doubled in size. “So, like, are you dating?” You both shook your head. “Oh,” her smile fell back to normal again, and she just looked confused now. “So roommates?” You both paused, looking at each other. What  _ were  _ you? Head of Household and Silky? Owner and..silky? Room-mates? Finally, you just turned back to Catty and nodded. Her smile twisted a little, and she raised an eyebrow. “I see,” she said thoughtfully, a glint in her eye. She turns away rather quickly, and leaves without warning. You watch her fall into a giggle fit as she flees to the back, and you can hear her repeat “roommates!” to someone in back. You feel heat on your face. “Sorry,” you mumble, and Grillby coughs once. That seems to be all that needs said, and the two of you travel up to a waiting Burgerpants. 

 

Burgerpants vibrates as you walk up to him, and he looks like he’s sweating. “H-Hello!” He says, and Grillby drops the bag in front of him. He begins ringing up the items, still sweating. “Did you find everything you need?” He asks, smile wide and fake again. You nod, and he seems to relax. He finishes ringing everything up, and Grillby pulls out his card to pay. Meanwhile, Burgerpants turns to you, face painted with a blush. “Uhh,” He hands you a piece of paper. “Here’s my number, if you, uhh, wanna hit me up sometime...” He looks extremely nervous as you take the slip from him. Grillby’s flames flicker a bit wildly as he takes the bag, and ushers for you to follow him. You do, and Burgerpants gives you a dreamy wave goodbye. 

 

Grillby hands you the bag as you reach the doors of the store, and you whisk it home. You take his hand before you leave, and the two of you re-enter the fray. It’s not as busy outside now; the sun has gone down and most everyone has head, or is currently heading home. You probably don’t need to hold Grillby’s hand anymore. 

 

Neither of you make a move to let go.

 

You begin walking down the street, and make a note to yourself of the beauty of the night street. It’s almost just as you imagined, but a bit darker. The poles with the glass orbs on top now emit a pretty yellow light, but not enough to make it  _ not night _ . In fact, the colors around you would probably all still be muted blues if it weren’t for Grillby. 

 

You felt like you had your own personal torch that followed your footsteps, guiding you through the dark, illuminating everything. It felt nice.

 

Grillby pulled you into one final store.  A little boutique. It looked like they were preparing to close, but Grillby assured you that it wouldn’t take long. You nodded, and followed him as he walked through the aisles, stopping when he found an aisle with glasses and utensils. He perused each one before selecting a gold-glass set. Slipping it under his arm, he led you to the front again, plopping the box in front of the cashier. 

 

The cashier, a younger looking male, not too young though, looked up from his phone. His eyes grew wide at the sight of Grillby. He cleared his throat. “Uhh. Hey. This all?” He pointed to the box, and Grillby nodded. “Cool. Alright,” the man rang it up and gave Grillby his price. Grillby pulled out his wallet for the third time that day, and the man looked at you now. You gave him a nervous smile, and he returned it. His eyes flickered just slightly to the left of your face, then back to you. He sniffed, and pulled at his collar for a moment. He looked nervous now. Was he acting like Burgerpants was? 

 

“So you, uhh... You got pointy ears,” He said slowly, and you blinked, lifting your hand to your ear. You did. You’ve always had pointy ears. You gave a small nod and raised an eyebrow at him. “You a... You a house spirit or s-something?” He asked, tugging at his earlobe and looking to the left and right. He sounded both nervous and excited at the same time. You blinked, chills prickling at the back of your neck. You nodded slowly, feeling yourself get anxious. Why did he want to know? It didn’t matter if he did or not, right? Then why did it bother you? Grillby finished swiping his card, and looked at him suspiciously, flames dimming a bit. 

 

Sure, Grillby could admit that a part of him didn’t like Burgerpants talking to you the way he did. Grillby didn’t like that at all, and wanted to take that piece of paper from your hands and burn it right in front of that nervous cat. It was only the fact that he respected you that he didn’t. That, and you probably didn’t know what a phone was... Either way, Grillby didn’t like the way Burgerpants talked to you. But this guy. This guy set off alarm bells in his head. This guy, he already  _ hated. _ He grabbed his bag quickly as you nodded to the cashier, and placed a hand on your shoulder. You jumped a bit, and looked up at him. You immediately noticed the nervous energy that mimicked your own. He felt just as uncomfortable as you did around this human. You let out a small breath, glad that you weren’t the only one spooked by his questions. 

 

The cashier let out a forced laugh, glancing between you and Grillby. “That’s cool, that’s cool,” He mumbled, licking his lips. Your heart skipped a beat, a sense of dread pouring over your shoulders. Instincts told you to leave. Grillby began to lightly usher you toward the door, and you didn’t need a second push. You turned, quickly walking toward the exit, Grillby close behind. “Are you a Brownie, or a Silky or what?” The cashier called loudly after you. 

 

“None of your business,” Grillby answered for you, voice short and heated, piercing harshly through the Cashier. The man fell silent, too frozen to ask anything else as you left. 

 

You exited the store, and the hackles of your neck almost immediately calmed down. You relaxed as Grillby closed the door behind him and walked up to you. He didn’t take your hand, but rather wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. You let him, leaning into his warmth as a form of comfort, letting your rushing heart pitter back to normal. 

 

“Let’s go home,” Grillby said quietly, and you could only nod in response. 

 

...

 

Why did that human bother you so much?

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> grillky.tumblr.com
> 
> *cough cough*  
> *weak smile*  
> See ya'all soon.  
> Maybe.  
> If I survive. 
> 
> I wrote this shit while dying of a cold. You're welcome. *if I sound wry and dry, it's cuz i'm still dying*  
> Kudos and comments please :)


	9. Thank You for Loving Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ..... Just read it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TIME FOR THANKS AND RECOGNITION!!!! 
> 
> GuineaPig5 for 2 different art pieces!   
> Silky Vs Undyne  
> http://guineapig5.tumblr.com/post/139522513100/i-read-the-fanfiction-a-house-or-a-home-and-just
> 
> Silky and Grillby awesome clothing  
> http://guineapig5.tumblr.com/post/139632252140/grillky-forever
> 
> SaiYah and their Silky Reaction Faces (they're GOLD!) (PLus Burgerpants. Thanks Burgerpants)  
> http://sai-yah.tumblr.com/post/139591821388/just-finished-reading-the-latest-chapter-of-a
> 
> ALSO A thanks to PuddingBrezel. I chit chatted with them while writing, and Was able to come up with a few ideas :DD
> 
> A few more thanks on the bottom to avoid spoilers!

A week or so had passed since your shopping trip, and things had fallen back to normal. Drink in the morning, cleaning, sticky-notes. The usual. You did stay upstairs for longer when Grillby came up to sleep, though. The two of you normally sat on the couch, chatting idly or just doing your own thing. 

 

You learned that he had a nasty little habit of nodding off while sitting on the couch. You would look up from your book to notice his head drooped, flames low. You’d chuckle, and lightly tap his shoulder till he blinked awake again. You’d send him to bed, to which he’d mumble a response and zombie-walk away. You would then head downstairs to clean. 

 

He also came downstairs earlier than he used to, and the two of you would talk for a while in the darkness before the sun rose. He learned that YOU had a nasty habit of sitting on top of the burnt spot on the floor, drifting away with your thoughts, normally not the best ones with you seated there. When he found you there the first time, he came and sat next to you. You didn’t acknowledge him for quite a while; he finally reached out his hand and wrapped it around yours. You had blinked, looked down at your hands, then at him. He gave you a nod, and you responded with a sad smile, dropping your head to his shoulder. 

 

Now, when he found you like that, he would just walk straight to you, and lift you off the floor. A hand behind your back, a hand under your knees, and a bit of effort brought you from the burn to the window-cill in seconds. You would apologize, he would wave it off, and then make you cider. 

 

You loved cider the most. 

 

You would then talk with him. Your conversations ranged from you talking about Gosren, or Jerry (rarely, but it happened), and he told you about Sans, Toriel, Frisk. You’d talk about how things changed; you’d ask him how the magical pole light orbs worked. 

 

Your conversations once turned to music, and you told him how you and Gosren used to play music together, or how the two of you would sit outside the house, listening to the golden voices of the church down the street on sunny Sundays. 

 

Your face had dropped a bit at that memory, and you sighed. 

 

“I just wish I could hear music again.” You expressed, “My humming just isn’t the same as instruments or a bunch of voices. Heh,” You looked over at Grillby, “But I don’t want it that much that I’d ask you to bring a chorus here,” You laughed dryly, and then dropped the whole conversation. 

 

He didn’t like it. 

 

He bought a jukebox. 

 

You had been wondering where he was as you stared out your window in the morning. He hadn’t greeted you when you came down to clean last night, and he didn’t bring you a drink in the morning, but when you saw him struggling down the street with that... that  _ thing,  _ your questions had been answered. 

 

You opened the door for him, and screeched when the giant hunk of color and metal scratched your floor. 

 

YOUR FLOOR! 

 

He was forced to move the  _ thing  _ to the corner of the room by himself as you set your magic to undoing his sin. By the time you finished and turned to him, he was standing next to the colorful box, positively  _ glowing.  _ If that didn’t set you on edge, then him touching a button on the front of the box did. 

 

You jumped out of your skin as it exploded into flashing lights and colors, the inside of the machine whirring. It was only Grillby’s laughing that gave you the courage to shuffle closer, watching little shiny circles in white squares get shifted around behind the glass. You looked from the  _ thing  _ to Grillby, and back, utterly confused. He only smiled, leaning against the machine like he had just brought the holy grail into your house. It sure didn’t  _ look  _ like the holy grail. You frowned at him, and his smile turned from a beaming pride to a unsettling smugness.

 

You didn’t trust it. 

 

He reached out a hand, flaming fingers dancing over the front of the machine; there was more than one button, you recognized now, and he seemed to press at least half of them. The machine whirred in response, and you took a tentative step back. 

 

The box began to sing. 

 

You could feel your heart lose its weight as notes-music!- began pouring from the machine, folding over your ears and filling your entire home. 

 

You heard your exhale before you felt it; your ears buzzed, your throat could barely contain the heart trying to escape it, chills ran up your arms and down your back, your eyes watered. 

 

Grillby’s flames flickered wildly as laughter bubbled from your lips, and you  _ literally  _ bounced up and down, “MUSIC!” You laughed, and Grillby mimicked you, somehow expecting this response. 

 

Of course he expected this response. He, admittedly, had been doing research on the 1300’s, and was dutifully taking note of the things you had probably missed. Music had to be one of them. It took him quite a while to find a jukebox that also had music  _ before  _ classical music; he finally found one when he approached it differently. 

 

“This one had something called ‘Muse Mode!’ It’s got special mythic technology that allows it to create rea-.” 

 

“Can I add my own music?” 

 

“Why would you? This Muse Box can make whatever you want!” 

 

“Can I add my own music?” 

 

“Well, yes, but-” 

 

“I’ll take it.” 

 

So he took it. He loaded music onto it before he even brought it home. And now, watching your giant eyes and immaculate smile, he knew it was worth  _ every  _ pretty penny. 

 

“It’s actually music!” You jumped up and down, rushing to the box and grasping at it, looking on either side. “But where are the musicians? Where’s the violin? The drum!?” Your eyes shot to him, curious, overjoyed, admiring. It warmed his heart. 

 

“It’s new technology,” He explained, hoping not to destroy your childish wonderment. “We can record musicians now.” 

 

“Oh! Wow!” You jittered, bobbing your head to the music spilling from the speakers, “So i’m listening to music that’s already been played?” Grillby nodded, and you mouthed a silent wow, closing your eyes for a moment. The music; you had only heard it a few times spilling from the village from church or Gosren’s humming. Just words, mostly, an organ or string accompanying it, but beautiful nonetheless. 

 

“There’s more, too.” Grillby said, your excitement contagious. You opened your eyes, looking at him. “More than one song, I mean.” The unbelieving, excited breath you let out encouraged him to continue. “700 years more.” 

 

“700 years,” You breathed, realizing. Music must have changed just as much as those light orbs on the street or  _ the zipper!  _ You couldn’t stop yourself from slapping your hand on the jukebox. “Show me.” 

 

Your eyes glittered as much as his flames danced, and the most jiving history lesson began. Grillby decided that one more day of the bar being closed wouldn’t hurt anyone. 

 

He took you through classical, from  Pachelbel to mozart, from Bach to Brahms  to Beethoven. He jumped you through Ragtime, laughing as you bounced your feet to Scott Joplin and James Scott. 

 

He started you on Jazz with Cab Calloway, starting 1933, and then jived you through Louis Armstrong and Glenn Miller (You couldn’t stop boppin’ your shoulders at “In the Mood.” Grillby mentioned that you looked like you already knew how to Jive, and you asked him what it meant. He just waved it off with a white hot flash of fire flickering across his face).

 

Grillby took you on a stop at Judy Garland because, “Over the rainbow is just a must.” 

 

After that, he admitted to you that he might be getting his timeline mixed up a bit; he  _ was  _ underground for all this, and their music choice was subjective to what fell to the garbage zone. 

 

You didn’t have much time to sway your head to Judy before you were back onto the Jazz train; Grillby took you now to the Boogie Woogie (yes, you laughed at that). You liked the Andrews Sisters; Plus, “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” was just funny to say. It put a pop in your step, and you asked Grillby about how they danced back then. He, once again, waved it off, telling you that that was a lesson for another day. 

 

From Boogie Woogie to Rhythm n’ Blues, he tossed you Louis Jordan. Ration Blues made you feel sexy. You swayed your shoulders and attempted to give Grillby a sultry gaze; you dissolved into burbling giggles rather quickly, missing him trying fruitlessly to calm himself down. 

 

It was maybe his mindset at that moment that brought you then to Dean Martin; Big Band, Swing! That’s Amore! 

 

That started the whole swing age. Bill Haley Rocked you around the Clock. In fact, He rocked you all the way to Rock. The change in sound was startling, to say the least. from the smooth upbeat sounds to the... well... the rockin sounds of Tutti Frutti (Little Richard). You were not disappointed, though. You found yourself singing along, wondering who Rudy was, and it Tutti Frutti was edible. 

 

Grillby found your questions adorable. He found  _ you  _ adorable. 

 

Why Do Fools Fall in Love? No, not the question. The song. Frankie Lymon and The Teenagers Do-wopped to Grillby’s musing. The only thing that pulled him free was your poking of his shoulder.    
  
“Can you sing that?” You questioned. You were sitting on the table now; your excitement had you travelling from chairs to tables to doing little improv dances (none of them were good, just jiggling of feet and giggling). Grillby looked up at you, questioning. “The Do-Wop thing,” you explained. “I can’t go that low.” You admitted, shrugging. How was this the same person who barely spoke to him when he moved in? You were so  _ expressive _ , eyes glittering, shoulders jittering, leaning forward to talk to him. 

 

Maybe it was because you  _ knew  _ him now. You trusted him (his heart warmed at that thought). You liked him..... Which meant that you. THIS you.... was his and his alone. 

 

He liked that thought. 

 

“Ah,” You were beginning to deflate a bit at his silence. “Never mind, let’s keep goi-” 

 

“I’m best at Crooner Rock.” 

 

You paused, blinking. He actually answered? You looked at him; his face was whiter than normal. You could see some blue near his nose-region, and he looked away from you. Your heart skipped a bit, and you shushed it. “Crooner Rock?” He hummed a yes, smiling warmly at you. 

 

You were curious. You wanted to hear it. You wanted to hear him sing.  Your  _ heart  _ wanted to hear him sing. You kept silent, hoping he would explain what Crooner Rock was... or maybe just sing. Maybe....

 

“It’s time for the fever, anyway,” Grillby said offhandedly, and you had to stifle your disappointment. 

 

“...The fever?” Your couldn’t help your question sounding less enthralled.

 

And he swept you into Elvis. You were.... well... enthralled. 

 

“How does he get his voice to wiggle like that?” you gasped.

 

“It’s so  _ smooth _ .” you breathed. 

 

“If he’s a king, where’s his kingdom?” 

 

You were wiggling side to side to one of his songs, trying your best to sing along. Grillby watched you, a peaceful smile on his face, a warmth in his heart. 

 

A new song started, and you perked. It was slower, started with a piano, and a soft drum beat. You liked it already. 

 

“Wise men say only fools rush in,” It started, the voice flowing out of the jukebox like milk and honey, caressing your ears, coaxing your eyes closed, and pulling at your heart. “But I can’t help falling in love with you,” it kept singing, and fire flickered in your mind's eye. It was quick to go, through, when the next lyric sang to you. 

 

“Shall I stay? Would it be a sin?” Elvis continued, and your breath caught in your throat. “If I can’t help falling in love with you?” 

 

You remembered Gosren. You remembered her smile. Your life with her. 

 

“Like a river flows, surely to the sea. Darling, so it goes. Some things are meant to be.”  Tears prickled at your eyes, and a accepting happiness bubbled in your heart. You smiled, not expecting to be affected by a song like this.

 

Grillby was not expecting it either. He watched you, your gentle sway from side to side, the peaceful expression on your face. He saw your feet swinging below the table, slow, relaxed. He reveled in the smile on your face, the soft little hum that escaped your lips. 

 

He heard your voice break, saw the wetness at the corner of your eyes. It didn’t look sad, though. Just... remembering. 

 

Either way, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning up, from touching the tears collecting at your eyes. They evaporated immediately, leaving a salty stain at your waterline. Your eyes flicked open, and met with his. Ah. They were visible. 

 

An idea bubbled in his mind, and he couldn’t resist it. Sitting in the chair, looking up at you from your position on the table, he opened his mouth and sang. 

 

“Take my hand,” He started, and smiled warmly when your eyes widened. His voice was not as smooth as Elvis’s; more crackly, and only a bit higher. It didn’t warble as much as Elvis’s either. It was solid, strong, anchoring. 

 

You were entranced. 

 

“Take my whole life, too,” He continued. His hand moved, cupping your cheek now, stroking the side of your face. “For i can’t help falling in love with you,” It was only at this moment that Grillby realized exactly what he was singing to you. It was a faint thought, with no surprise. Like getting to the end of a good book, his heart relaxed. He had fallen in love with you. 

 

Not the “protect her because we’re close” love. Not the “she’s family” love. 

 

No. As he looked into your beautiful eyes, ran his thumb across your perfect skin, sang words he would never let anyone else hear, he knew. The song continued without him for a moment. “Like a river flows, Surely to the sea. Darling, so it goes. Some things are meant to be,” He watched you, watched the small smile curl onto your lips, the compassion slip into your eyes. No, he loved you. He wanted to hold you close, to protect you, to share his life with you. To let the whole world know that you were  _ his,  _ and he was yours....

 

“Take my hand, take my whole life too,” Elvis continued, and Grillby let his mouth peel from behind his flames, finishing the song. 

 

“For I can’t help falling in love with you.” He sang. “For I can’t help falling in love with you....”

 

The music pittered away, leaving you staring at him in silence, unmoving. Your heart was warm: warmer than the cheek Grillby still stroked. Your breath was gone. You weren’t sure for how long it was gone, but you don’t think that you would even notice if your lungs burned. The only things that burned right now were Grillby, and your heart. 

 

You could  _ feel  _ the tether to the floor shiver, vibrating your soul. 

 

Your lips parted with the faintest sound, and you swallowed. This feeling in your heart, it was familiar, but  _ different _ . It felt like that pull... that pull you’ve missed for over 700 years.... but different.  _ So  _ different.... 

 

Maybe...

 

Maybe he...

 

“WHAT’S NEW PUSSYCAT!” 

 

“AAAHH!” You screamed, jumping nearly a foot into the air, landing on the corner of, and then tumbling off, the table, arms and legs flailing to catch yourself. You landed on the floor, sprawled out, heart pounding near the speed of sound. Grillby had jumped up as well, and turned on the jukebox, slamming a few buttons till it turned off. 

 

You both sat there, him leaning against the jukebox, and you sprawled on the floor, both wheezing for air and clutching at your hearts. 

 

Beat. 

 

You were the first to burst into laughter, with him short to follow. You went from being unable to breath out of fright to unable to breath out of a laughing fit. It was quite a while later that both you and Grillby were able to speak again. 

 

Moment forgotten, you started. “So... what song was that?” 

 

“What’s up Pussycat.” Grillby provided, “Tom Jones.” 

 

“What genre?” 

 

“Pop Rock.” 

 

“Pop...Rock?” You tilted your head to the side, making Grillby chuckle. His laugh was sweeter now, somehow more precious. His laugh petered off rather quickly, though, his flaming white eyes widening. 

 

“You don’t know who the Beatles are.” He said, sounding like he shocked even himself. 

 

“The Beatles?” You raised an eyebrow, and he looked  _ personally  _ offended now, turning to the jukebox and hitting buttons near the speed of light. 

 

And then The Rock began. 

 

You went through about 50 Beatles songs before Grillby moved on to The Rolling Stones. From there, you went to Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Deep Purple. The Kinks. Sony and Cher. Bob Dylan. Otis Redding (“Why can’t he get any satisfaction?”). 

 

James Brown (How does he yell like that? OW!).  Diana Ross and The Supremes. The Monkees (You definitely  _ believed  _ in them). Aretha Franklin (R.E.S.P.E.C.T!). Marvin Gaye. The Jackson 5 (You expressed your like of the main voice, and Grillby just smiled at you knowingly). 

 

Led Zeppelin again (Grillby explained that Led Zeppelin counted for at  _ least  _ 3 bands). Aerosmith. Elton John. Stevie Wonder. Lynyrd Skynyrd (“What’s so great about Alabama?”). Kiss. Queen (you had to listen to Bohemian Rhapsody at least 3 times to fully wrap your head around it). Bruce Springsteen. Gloria Gaynor (You  _ really  _ liked “I will Survive”). 

 

Charlie Daniels Band. AC/DC. The Clash (“Why were they so worried about staying or going?”). Journey (“were people having problems with believing or something?”). 

 

Eurythmics. 

  
“Is this STILL Rock?” You were literally  _ reeling. _

 

“Punk Rock.” Grillby explained with a nod. 

 

“Punk Rock?” 

 

He shrugged, leaning his head against the wall behind him. The two of you had gotten relatively comfortable a while ago. He moved a chair to right next to the jukebox so he could easily choose songs, and you sprawled on the bar top right next to it, eyes normally closed as you bobbed your head to the music boppin from the box. The entire day, from the moment he came in this morning to now, the sun dipping below the mountains, you listened to music. 

 

Grillby had paused every once in awhile, a blush tinting his face as he apologized for taking so much of your day. You had waved him off, expressing your interest in the music. You did ask him, though, how he knew so much. 

 

He had responded with “I own a bar.” 

 

That was it. 

 

Maybe it would be explained at a later date? 

 

“What’s after Rock?” You asked, hoping to continue the conversation. It was easy to continue with him. It was easy to  _ talk  _ to him. 

 

“Pop,” the voice you loved responded. You raised an eyebrow, turning your head to look at him. He had shifted to face the juke box again, punching a few buttons. You were still amazed at how many songs that thing had. It was  _ limitless!  _

 

A door creaked, and you jumped, eyes shooting to the front door. It was closed. It creaked again, and your eyes turned to the Jukebox. Footsteps. Heavy footsteps on wood. Chills ran up your spine, and your breath got caught in your throat. 

 

Thunder. 

 

A.... wolf? 

 

Ka Chun Chun! 

 

Music started, and you froze, listening as it trilled a decrescendo in some sort of synth sound, accompanied by more wolves and a bit of a drum line. 

 

Suddenly, trumpets! You would have jumped if you weren’t half expecting it. More wolves. Then...

 

“It’s close to midnight, and something evil’s lurkin’ in the dark.” Oh! That voice sounds nice! You can’t help but smile just a little at the song, and you look at Grillby. 

 

“MIchael Jackson. King of Pop.” 

 

“CUZ THIS IS THRILLER! THRILLER NIGHT!” 

 

“I like it, I like it!” you laugh, twisting around on the bar top till you are sitting instead of lying, boppin’ your head up and down. “I could dance to this!” You grin. 

 

“It’s built for that,” Grillby provided, nodding to the music.  

 

“Mm! I can kinda see how!” You smile, and then stop, pondering. An idea pricks at the back of your mind, and you fancy it. You hop off the bar, and meander to the center of the room. You get to work, pushing the tables to the side until you have a clear center. By the time you had a good space, “thriller” had ended. Satisfied, you turn to Grillby with a big smile. “Show me?” 

 

Grillby froze. Even his  _ flames  _ froze. His eyes were wide, mouth parted before they both blinked away, hiding behind the flat flames of his featureless face. He shook his head. 

 

“Awww please?” You begged, frowning. “I only know the type of dancing Gosren showed me! Please?” 

 

He shook his head, face slowly turning completely white. There was no way. NO way he was dancing Pop for you. Not doing The Thriller for you. Nope. Not doing it. 

 

Thriller started again, without Grillby’s prompting, and he looked over at it, frowning. How could it-

 

“Oh,” you deflated, interrupting his thought. He flinched; you sounded so upset... His eyes found your figure looking around the space you had just cleared. You looked horribly disappointed. No. No no. You took in a big breath, and pat your hands against your sides. “Okay.” He could tell you were trying your best to not sound upset. You looked at him with a wide smile.     
That’s okay.” You said quietly, and moved to the tables. “If you’re not comfortable with it, it doesn’t matter that much.” 

 

The music turned up, and- did it just loop back to the beginning of the song?

 

It was when you began pushing the first table that Grillby stood, hating the sound in your voice. He rested his hand on the table you were moving, and you looked up at him. He took a small breath in, and sighed. Only for you, he told himself. Only for you. 

 

“No one knows this happened.” His face appears again, and he stares straight into your soul. You nod, excitement bubbling in your heart. 

 

He took you to the center of the cleared space, and the song started again. Was the blasted thing broken already? Grillby huffed, ignoring it to pay more attention to his white hot face. 

 

He swallowed. You looked up at him hopefully, and he pulled at his collar. The song played, and he shifted from foot to foot, looking at the ground. You blinked, watching him as the music continued on. 

 

“I, uhh...” He scratched the back of his neck, and turned away from you. “I don’t know the whole thing,” he mumbled. You scrunched your eyebrows. The whole thing? 

 

Suddenly, he turned around, stomping his foot to the ground, and looking straight at you. He jumped into the air, landing each foot to the ground, one after the other. His head jerked to the side, and then back at you. He shrugged (?) and twisted to the left, bending his knees and fanning out his hands at his hips. 

 

Your jaw dropped. 

 

He took two half steps to the left, crossing his arms in front of him at the first step, and pulling them back at the second. His head turned to face you, and he took one step toward you before he dropped out of dancing, face practically a supernova as he waved his hands in a circle dismissively. “..It keeps going...” 

 

“Why’d you stop?” spilled out of your mouth in one breath, and your face split into a grin. “That was cool!” 

 

“That’s all I know,” He mumbled, looking away. “There’s something later...” He raised his hands and made claws out of them, swinging them to either side of his head a few times before letting them drop, “But that's it.” He shrugged. 

 

“Where did you learn that?” 

 

Grillby shrugged, rubbing one of his shoulders, “Alphys?” .... I can show you the rest later...” 

 

“But I thought you didn’t know the rest?” 

 

“On youtube.” 

 

“What’s youtube?” 

 

He just shrugged, returning to the jukebox. It had stopped playing by the time he reached it, a new song in queue. “Oh,” He looked at it, blinking. How did-

 

It started playing, and he paused, hand over the play button. 

 

“Dance!” The trumpets blared, the beat pumped, the singers jived. 

 

“How could I forget disco?” Grillby hummed thoughtfully. 

 

“Disco!” You giggled, wiggling your shoulders to Earth, Wind & Fire’s “Boogie Wonderland.” “I like this too!” 

 

Grillby chuckled. “Try handling a bar full of drunk people with this music playing,” He reminisced an old ‘boogie bar’ day he had quite a while back, and the...ah...  _ happenings _ .. that came from that. 

 

“Look!” You laughed, “The claw thing works for this song too!” Grillby turned around to see you doing a piece of Thriller to the beat of Earth, Wind & Fire. He burst into laughter, louder than ever, leaning over the jukebox as you tossed clawed hands into the air. 

 

You were perfect. 

 

You perked up at his laughter, and stopped, looking at him with a big ol’ grin. He waved his hand in the air while mumbling chuckling apologies, flames on his head flaring up with each chuckle. His smile, visible now, tore across his face in a fissure of mirth. His eyes were pinched closed; two thin lines behind those immaculate glasses.

 

He was perfect. 

 

la da da de da da da da da,” The jukebox began, and both you and Grillby looked up, confused. “La da da de da da da daaaa,” it continued, and Grillby moved for a moment, turning to look at the front of the jukebox. “La da da dee daa!” It kept going just as Grillby was able to see the selection screen. 

 

“Be my lover!” The jukebox sang. “La Bouche,” the screen read out, and Grillby laughed. 

 

“What is  _ this? _ ” You asked, eyes wide. This was... kind of disco? But not? 

 

“It’s Eurodance.” Grillby poked at the jukebox, wondering why it was playing without his help... also... it seemed to be playing exactly the genre’s he wanted. It continued up the timeline just how he wanted... although Be My Lover might not be the one he would pick... He looked over to you, pushing down a small blush. You were laughing. 

 

“I like this too!” You giggled, wiggling your hands in fists in front of you and biting your lip. “It’s.. hip?” 

 

“It’s hip,” Grillby repeated, nearly choking on his snort. “No, it’s not hip. We’re still in the 80’s.” 

 

“Oh,” you shrugged. “Okay. I still like it though. What's in the 90’s?” You sat down, placing your chin in your hands. Grillby cringed, looking away in disgust. Your smile faded away. “What? Is it bad?” 

 

Grillby thought for a moment. “The first half isn’t bad. It’s near the end and the beginning of the 2000’s that’s bad...” Grillby wondered if he could just  _ skip  _ that part. 

 

The jukebox had a different idea. 

 

“I’m a genie in a bottle --HIT ME BABY ONE MORE TIME- SO TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT WHAT YOU REALLY WANT- I want it thaaaat way~ BYE BYE BYE!” 

 

.....

 

“Oh,” you cringed. 

 

“Yeah,” Grillby looked to the side. “But, that’s just the end. Aerosmith did some in the 90’s. Whitney Houston. Nirvana.” 

 

The jukebox chimed in with a “Whoop! There it is!” 

 

“Tag Team,” Grillby added with a skeptical glance to the Jukebox.  “It’s just the boy-band phase that got bad... but we can just  _ skip  _ that.” 

 

You nodded, intrigued. “What’s next?” 

 

“Mmm, probably Rap.” 

 

“Hi! My name is- What? My name is- Who? My name-CHIKA CHIKA-----Go shorty, it’s your birthday, so------drop it like it’s hoot, drop it like it’s hooot-------- Kkkkccctthhchhh: May I have your attention please? May I have your attention please?-------She take my money! Well I’m in neee-eeed--I got the magic stick------I haaiii really gotta bust a nut!------I’ll take you to the candy shop--Is it worth it? Lemme work it---I’m sorry Ms. Jackson, I am for real!” 

  
Grillby smacked the jukebox, and it faded to silence. 

 

Was this the muse feature? 

 

“Was that rap?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.    
  


“Yes. Well. A bunch of songs.” He corrected himself, and the jukebox increased in volume again, sticking to just “Ms. Jackson” by Outkast. You began nodding your head to the beat, listening.

 

“They talk really fast,” You mused, “And there’s still rhymes in it despite their speed.” 

 

“It takes talent,” Grillby agreed. 

 

“What’s after that?” You asked. 

 

“Mmm... I’m not sure, we’re arriving upon Real Time now... It starts to get all mixed up.” Grillby nodded to himself as the jukebox continued playing, switching from telling you that you shoulda put a ring on it, to you belonging with her, to you being a... soul sister? Then something with Ga Ga Ga and then an Oh la la? Then it got kinda wubby dubby. Dub Wubby?

 

“So is that it?” you asked, disappointed at the end of the lesson. 

 

“It’s been an entire day,” Grillby pointed out. The Jukebox kept going, almost as if stubborn for the day to end, singing “we could have had it aaaa!!!” 

 

“Still, that was fun.” You returned, and stood, moving the tables back to where they’re supposed to go. Grillby hummed his agreement, and went over to help you. A few moments later, you had the restaurant back together, and found yourself sitting at the bar. Grillby pulled out 2 cups and some ingredients, and you smiled, looking at the Jukebox, which was softly crooning what you knew now was smooth jazz. “What’s this thing called?” 

 

“A Jukebox.” 

 

“I love it.” 

 

The jukebox began flittering a bit, flipping through some songs before the screen lit up. “Thank You For Loving Me," by Bon Jovi. 

 

You froze. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Paper-Marshmallow and an anon comment on my tumblr for the ideas for Grillby's voice! I took those idea for the tambre, but... the song... had to be that one.... once I found it...
> 
> IF ya'all are interested, they said John Newman and Michael Bublé! 
> 
> SOME LINKS THAT HELPED ME WRITE THIS!   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_fxGYByDTUI  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OWa0kF-_8jM
> 
> And. Uhh. Yeah. This was fun to write, and let me do some serious fluffage, AND some serious plot setup. 
> 
> So that was cool.   
> Check out the tumblr: There's new art sometimes, and other times I ask questions to help me make decisions.   
> Grillky.tumblr.com
> 
> uhh. I love you! 
> 
> Kudos make me happy. Comments make me cry (of happiness).


	10. A Hundred is Better than One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The jukebox is haunted. 
> 
>  
> 
> ...duh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOOD PASTA ALMIGHTY I REWROTE THIS CHAPTER. 5. TIMES.  
> It was really funny to begin with, but with each re-write, it got closer to the necessities for the plot, and further from the laugh that I wanted. Ohwell~ i'll have funnies later. 
> 
> ART APPRECIACION TIME! 
> 
> From PuddinBrezel, we've got a... I can't remember, is that Pastel? either way, It's a bonified painting!  
> We got Grillby:  
> http://grillky.tumblr.com/image/139800619802  
> We got Sillky with the..ahh.. rib...  
> http://grillky.tumblr.com/image/139812235547
> 
> From WindHarmony, We've got quite a few!  
> This one's great. Just look at that hair. It's me tho.  
> http://windharmony.tumblr.com/post/139808503106/i-draw-serious-things-sometimes-i-swear-again-a  
> Also. 'Member that dress? well HERE IT IS!!!  
> http://windharmony.tumblr.com/post/139940233086/aaaand-its-finished  
> And anyone want a grillby/reader slow dance with that dress? WindHarmony to the rescue!  
> http://windharmony.tumblr.com/post/139998577351/okay-i-know-i-draw-way-too-much-stuff-for-a-house
> 
> Next, we've got Aria-Capriccio, whose drawn facial expressions I can PERSONALLY relate to. I love them so much.  
> Cheek Chu!  
> http://grillky.tumblr.com/image/139813824907  
> Two things with this picture. One: Grillby's smile. Oh. My god. It's great! And: Reader's little wiggles for dancing. I loved it. It made ME wiggle!  
> http://grillky.tumblr.com/image/139861225477  
> Grumpy!Grillby is Great!Grillby  
> http://grillky.tumblr.com/image/139892971942
> 
> Next, we've got Guineipig5!  
> What's new pussycat reaction: Poor Grillby's so disappointed!  
> http://guineapig5.tumblr.com/post/140003390495/whats-new-pussy-cat
> 
> Aaaannnd Saiyah!  
> Chibi Art meets ADORABLE FACES makes a happy author!  
> http://sai-yah.tumblr.com/post/139836995028/once-again-a-great-chapter-from-a-house-or-a-home
> 
> Thank you guys SO much for all the art! Not only does it give me good ideas for upcoming events, but it gives me the determination to keep going! It makes me so happy! 
> 
> With that in mind, if you have art, you can submit it to Grillky.tumblr.com, or tag it with @Grillky. I'm always around, and It makes me SO happy! 
> 
> Also! I've been getting a lot of people sending me songs they like for this fic, and I've been putting them all on one playlist on Youtube. If you want your heart ripped out, just go here!  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL19TxdA3niW4nJ5EeQjLkR82uWzRDM3UA
> 
> uhh....Don't be a stranger! I'm always up for a chat! Also. I have no life, i'm pretty much always on, so if you send me something, you can expect a relatively speedy response ;D

That jukebox was alive. 

 

It was. You knew it. 

 

“You’re...welcome?” You responded, and the music skipped for a moment before continuing. You blinked, and then looked away from it, eyes wide. 

 

“Grillby?” You asked. He hummed in response, tossing a cinnamon stick in two empty mugs, head moving back and forth very subtly to the music. “Do jukeboxes normally talk to you?” 

 

“No,” Grillby said, filling the bottom of the mug with cloves, and then dipping his hand under the counter for some more ingredients. If you strained, you could swear you heard him humming. 

 

“So,” you thought, tapping on the wood of the bar as you watched the jukebox. “Is ours special?” 

 

“It might be,” Grillby nodded, a small frown flickering in his flames as he couldn’t find the brown sugar. He bent down, dipping his head under the counter. “The salesman  _ did  _ say something about ‘Muse’ feature.” 

 

“Oh,” you replied, staring at the feet on top of the readout screen on the jukebox. They were beautiful, actually. Flawless. Perfectly naturally shaped toenails, cute little balls that looked like they hadn’t seen a day of walking. ankles that just  _ asked  _ to be wrapped in the delicate strands of fancy shoes. They were connected to equally pretty legs too. Toned and tanned, one folded over the other, they, once again, looked like they were molded specifically for statues and beautiful clothing. 

 

Putting those legs into a tacky plaid skirt should be an outright crime, but these legs somehow pulled it off. Maybe it was the oversized white button up contrasting with the color-streaked black hair that made it work? Maybe it was the whole outfit, mixed with the pretty body and the pretty face that made a whole package deal? 

 

Maybe it was those  _ endless  _ sapphire eyes that stared back at you that made...the....toes...

 

“Oh,” you breathed, eyes wide. 

 

“Oh?” the eyes responded, an eyebrow quirking. 

 

“Uhh,” you so eloquently reply, jumping when the counter you were resting on shakes violently, and a soft ‘fuck’ comes from under the bar. You look Grillby’s way as he pulls back from under the counter, holding his head in his hands, flames dim. He rubs it for a few moments, and then looks up, making eye contact with the woman sitting on the jukebox. 

 

“Uhh,” He mutters; the woman snorts. 

 

“You’re both so eloquent,” She mocks with a smirk. It turns into a laugh when  _ both  _ you and Grillby blush, looking away. “Oh my god this is priceless,” She laughs, folding her fingers together and resting them behind her head. She leans against the wall behind the jukebox.  “We’re gonna get along.” 

 

“You-” You start, eyes wide as you slowly put puzzle pieces together. She controlled music. Used it as a form of communication, a form of expression, and she could create little mix's immediately,  _ if  _ those ‘malfunctions’ were all her. 

 

You remember your childhood. Before even Gosren, when you lived where the Silkies are born, your elders told you tales. They told you tales of travelling mythics, ultimate masters and inspirations for  _ one  _ specific topic. Beings of pure happiness, pure inspiration: Fantastical, graceful, and free, these beings would traverse the world, sharing their stories and their happiness, delving and enjoying their trade with their entire existence. Your elders told you of a beauty who spent every night dancing to the only the crickets of the night, yet inspiring everyone to join. They spoke of a wisened face weaving tales better than any could, turning the smallest fire-circle into a town-wide storytelling fest. A child-sized wisp that could sing the suffering to a peaceful death, or soothe not one, but an entire city of crying infants. They were beings of dreams, of wishes, of potential; creatures that made you believe that even if you couldn’t do everything, you could at least enjoy it. You grew up  _ wishing  _ that one day one of these masters would grace you and your elders with their presence, if only for a brief second. 

 

And now, here was one floating in your house. 

 

“You’re a muse,” you whispered, eyes wide, breathless. 

 

“Genius,” She finger-guns at you, and then sits up straight. She takes a quick breath, and begins prattling: “As the latest and greatest technology from JB Straight’s fanciest jukebox line, you can consider me, a muse of old, as your personal DJ! I come with many features including remixes, original songs, voice-controlled volume, and karaoke. On top of that, I’m really user friendly!” She  _ obviously  _ faked an excited tone of voice, eyes dead. “You can even give me your own special DJ name!” She finished rolling her eyes. 

 

Here..... In your house..... There was a muse....

 

A feeling began in your chest. A little needle, poking somewhere just enough to catch your attention. 

 

“What’s your name?” Grillby asked, placing the brown sugar in his hand onto the table, and continuing his beverage making. 

 

“Whatever you want it to be!” The muse replied with an empty smile, a void voice. Your gaze flitted to her mouth, then her eyes; the feeling increased from a poke to a tickle. It was something familiar, but old. It tickled at your conscious, a little key threatening to unlock a door riddled in rust. 

 

“I want it to be your name.” Grillby insisted, flames spiking a bit. The muse flinched back, incredulous. “You’re a person,” Grillby said quieter, reminding you of when you first met him. The surprise that flit across the muse’s face pulled at your heart, and wiggled that key. 

 

“Z-... Zait.” She said with an unsure stutter, looking at Grillby through squinted eyes. She looked like she  _ wanted  _ to trust him, but something was holding her back. 

 

“Zait,” you tried it on your tongue absentmindedly, trying to ignore the tickle in your chest that has slowly been growing. It’s a little flicker of a flame now, tightening your chest. Zait looks at you, and nods, a smile splitting on her face when she hears you say her name. Almost like no one has used her name in forever. You deadpanned, falling quiet again, trying to stem the fire in your chest that increased from a flicker to a crackle; you felt your hands slowly curl into balls. You opened them, laying them flat on your thighs. You realized that that metaphorical door was rusty for a reason, and you did not and should not open it. You stemmed your soul, taking long, shallow breaths. 

 

Zait was smiling now, and seemed exponentially better than before. “Wow,” she breathed, looking at Grillby. “I’m really glad you needed a jukebox,” her laugh seemed relieved more than anything as she continued. “If you treat me with a  _ fourth  _ of the love you give to your Silky, then I’ll be the happiest muse in this hemisphere!” Grillby leaned back a bit, flames crackling a bit louder as he scratched the back of his neck. His face brightened, heating up the back of your neck. 

 

It was maybe his embarrassment that made him miss your subtle quivers. 

 

Zait uncurled her legs from under her, and spread out in the air with a loud sigh of content. She seemed to change completely in that moment, like a switch was flipped, telling her she could be herself with you and Grillby. Her tentative timidity dissolved like water, and she provided instead wide smiles and boisterous volume. Her eyes regained some life, and she moved about the air less like she was walking on it, and more like she was floating. She raised her hands above her head, and hummed, “And it looks like you’re going to! So!” She looked at the two of you from her upside-down vantage point, eyes glittering. “Can we continue that lesson? I want to get through the last couple a’ years! She hasn’t learned-”

 

KRRRTT CRASH!!!

 

The stool underneath you clattered to the floor after you slid out of it, hands balled into fists, shoulders shaking. Little wisps of magic flicked from your fingers and licked at your arms. “ _ You’re a muse!”  _ You seethed toward Zait. 

 

Zait retreated a bit, more confused than scared at your anger. “Uhh, yeah?” She questioned, raising an eyebrow now that she was a couple feet further away. You felt a hand on the small of your back, but it's familiar warmth did nothing to sate the flaming beast in your chest. 

 

“You’re a MUSE!” You practically screeched now, gesturing outward with your hands. Zait flinched. “What are you doing  _ here _ , playing music from a  _ box?”  _ She looked away from you, ashamed, but letting a slow, simmering anger flit across her face. It broke your heart, to see this  _ god-like  _ being so... subdued.  Your voice dropped, “You should be in front of  _ thousands _ , not two!” 

 

“Well I’m not!” She spat back at you, head jerking to meet your gaze. You might have jumped before, but now Righteous Anger coursed through your veins. You stared at each other; she easily met your anger level, and both of you stood, stark frozen, staring each other down. “Okay?” She continued, breathing coming out in quick bursts. “I’m not. And I can’t! I’m stuck to this  _ stupid  _ jukebox, playing tunes to the highest bidder, and there’s nothing I can do about it!” 

 

“ _ Get angry!”  _

 

_ “You don’t think I’m angry?” _

 

“ _ Fight back!”  _

 

“You don’t think I’ve  _ tried!?”  _

 

_ “You’re a GOD!”  _

 

_ “ _ I am not!” 

 

“You’re a Muse! One of the Nine Inspirations of the world! You cannot sa-” 

 

“I’M NOT, OKAY?” She yelled, volume shaking the walls and pounding against your ears. You lost your words, staring at her as she shuddered, feet lifting off the ground as she  _ changed. _ The sapphire blue in her irises broke free from their circular prisons, flooding her entire eye till only sapphire orbs remained. Her hair stopped having individual strands, or even corporeality; it was just two pigtails of pure darkness swirling behind her, streaks of color licking through and shining too bright for you to look. Her lips curled up to reveal a gaping maw of black: no teeth, no tongue, nothing but the same darkness that overtook her hair. She hovered above the ground, almost twice the size as she was before, the edges of her body fuzzing like she didn’t quite belong in this realm. 

 

She was breathtaking.

 

But it didn’t last long. 

 

“NOT ANYMORE!” She howled, sapphires leaking from her eyes and dropping to the floor, shattering into nothing on contact. Just like the sapphires dripping from her waterlines shattered, so did her skin. Starting from the divot in her neck, cracks spidered across her body with ear splitting snaps, spreading constantly until her entire body looked like shattered glass, darkness attempting to escape every little fissure in her figure. You felt your heart stop, eyes widening in realization. You lost your breath; tears already prickled at your eyes. 

 

Your anger left, replaced with immeasurable sympathy. 

 

You just barely registered the hand on your shoulder before you were pulled backward, Grillby placing himself between you and the shattered woman in front of you. He held a hand against your chest, making sure you stayed back as he stared at her. His flames were twice the size you’ve ever seen them, his hands practically roared with flames. You could never mistake the way he held himself. The tensed muscles, the head that never moved from his target, the hands held at ready. He was poised for battle. 

 

“Grillby!” You yelled, alarmed, reaching out and grabbing his arm, trying to pull him back. He shook you off, pushing you behind him as he glared Zait down, flames flickering dangerously. 

 

“Stay behind me,” he commanded, bending his knees and letting his magic gather at his fingers. 

 

“No! Grillby!” You jumped forward again, wrapping your arms around his midsection. “Stop! She’s not a threat!” 

 

Grillby tried to shake you off, “It’s not safe! Get back!” 

 

You clung tighter, pressing your face into his back and letting the tears stream down your face. “Please Grillby, she’s already so hurt!” 

 

He froze, shocked. “.... hurt?” 

 

“That’s her soul!” You wailed, pulling him away from her, heart still breaking for her state. She slowly sank from the air to the ground, letting herself rest on her knees and shrink back down to her previous size. Her head drooped, little sapphires shattering in her lap. Grillby let himself be pulled away, looking at the cracked figure in confusion. 

 

“Hurt?” he repeated as you let him go and hurried over to her, dropping to your knees. 

 

“What  _ happened  _ to you?” You asked, holding your hands a few inches from her, afraid to even touch her. She looked up for a moment, then looked down again. 

 

“Zait,” you said, letting yourself touch her upper arm. She didn’t respond. “Zait,” you whispered now. 

 

“They splintered me.” she finally said, and your heart stopped again. “They splintered me 100 times.” 

 

You felt like you were going to puke out your heart. It was almost exactly what you expected, with how horribly broken she looked in her ‘true’ state. She looked like the only thing holding her together was her the thin threads of what was left of her soul knitted between each piece. You ran a finger over the crack, and pulled back when the darkness began to reach for you. “How is that even possible?” You breathed, looking at the cracks. Splintering, or the splitting of a mythic’s soul in pieces to create two or more new beings was not an uncommon way of reproduction, but it was supposed to occur in the very old mythics. They had to be old enough for their soul to have collected enough life experience and magic to equal nearly 16 lifetimes for 3 new mythics. The elder would cease to exist, and the new mythics would take their place with new memories and new lives. The amount of energy it took, though, made it a rare occurrence, and normally a way for a mythic of the Immortal Variety to pass on peacefully. 

 

But to  _ force  _ a being to splinter... and to splinter a  _ hundred  _ times... 

 

“I was a god,” she answered with a dry laugh. She lifted a hand, and then dropped it again. The cracks slowly faded away under a layer of magic, and it only took a few moments for her to look “normal” again. You wondered how much magic it took for her to keep herself looking like that. “I guess they had to do it that many times to be sure I was weak enough to be...commercialized...” that word made you feel sick. She laughed, looking at her hands. “And, since it was forced, I never really started my own life... Just continued existing in 100 different bodies...” 

 

“Can you..?”

 

“Am I connected to the other 99?” She laughed, “No. Thank the Stars, I think I’d be crazy. No. I’m just me.” She looked up, giving you a sad smile. “Weak, jukebox ridden me.” 

 

“Oh,” You fell silent, clenching and unclenching your fist. This wasn’t a god in front of you. This wasn’t the muse you grew up to revere. This was a broken, sad fissure trapped in a 5 by 3 box. “I’m... I’m so sorry,” was all you could muster. 

 

Zait laughed at your attempt, and waved you off. “It’s okay. I’m just glad I could talk about it, I guess. No one has ever asked; I’ve always been owned by a human.” 

 

“Well now you’re not.” Grillby pitched in, kneeling on the other side of the downtrodden Muse. “You’re not ‘owned’ at all.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, and nodded. “You are free to stay, though.” 

 

Zait laughed, looking over at the jukebox. “I don’t have much of a choice, really, but I’d love to.” She gave Grillby a thankful smile. “I’ve always been able to find at least a little happiness wherever I am, but maybe I’ll be able to find more here?” 

 

You both nodded. 

 

“Ahh-” she trailed off, closing her eyes. “Thank you.” 

 

“No, thank  _ you _ ,” Grillby said, squeezing her shoulder lightly. “Your music expertise is much appreciated.” 

 

Pang. 

 

Zait looked up with a smile. “Yours ain’t too shabby either.” she returned, and he chuckled. 

 

Pang.

 

“I own a bar.” 

 

“Yes. I remember that.” Zait laughed.

 

Pang. 

 

“Ah, well,” You licked your lips, looking away. “You’re opening the bar again tomorrow, right? I think I should probably clean up, and get the kitchen ready.” You stood, brushing off your bottoms. “I’m starting up the new menu tomorrow, so it’s pretty important and I really have quite a bit of work to do.” 

 

You about-faced and walked away, leaving the two on the floor as you entered the kitchen. The moment the door clicked shut behind you, you leaned against it, a hand over your heart. 

 

Why did it hurt?

 

______________   
______________

 

“OH WOWIE I AM SO EXCITED! SPAGHETTI AT MY BROTHERS FAVORITE PLACE! I THINK THIS PLACE MAY BE BEARABLE NOW!” 

 

“it’s a little crowded though, bro. it might be impastable to even order.” 

 

“SANS!” 

 

“i calls it as i sees it,” Sans laughed, opening the door to Grillby’s, letting Papyrus walk in first before following quickly after. 

 

“YOU COULD TRY TO CALL IT WITHOUT THE PUN, THOUGH!” 

 

“that wouldn't be fun.” Sans shrugs, leading Papyrus to the bar and waving to Grillby when the bartender sees him. “b’sides, i’m just tryin’ ta spaghetti on your good side.” 

 

“SANS!” Papyrus huffed, plopping down onto a stool and crossing his arms in front of his body. Sans chuckled, sitting down next to him. Grillby quickly met them on the other side of the bar, holding out a menu. “OH! HOW FANCY!” Papyrus praised, taking the menu. He turned it upside down, and returned it to Grillby’s waiting hand. “I WILL HAVE THE SPAGHETTI PLEASE! AND SANS WILL HAVE ANYTHING OTHER THAN HIS USUAL!” 

 

“hey.” 

 

“YOU ARE NOT GOING TO EAT THAT GREASE TRAP IN FRONT OF ME, BROTHER! PLEASE SPARE ME THE DISGUST.” 

 

The song Sans didn’t even notice faded to nothing, and a new song began with quick strums of an acoustic guitar. Sans glanced over to the corner of the room at the new jukebox. He laughed, “Finally decided to replace that deadbeat jukebox, hey Grillbz?” He asked, and Grillby gave him a quick nod, glancing at the Jukebox with a flare of flames. 

 

“Hey brother, there’s an endless road to rediscover,” the lyrics began, and Grillby looked away with a nod. 

 

“s’nice. I’d like to Avicii how much music it has, though,” he winked; Papyrus moaned. 

 

“PLEASE!” Papyrus let his head hit the bar-top. “PLEASE SAVE ME!” 

 

Grillby let out a puff of a chuckle, and retreated to the kitchen to put in the orders. He pushed the swing door open, and scanned the kitchen for you. You were at the stove, sizzling some veggies and humming tunelessly, a smile resting lightly on your face. He paused at the entrance, just watching you as you lifted the veggies from the burner, and let them cool down as you turned, checking on a sauce to the left. You looked so in your element, so  _ relaxed _ and comfortable, he couldn’t stop himself from staring. He wanted to come behind you, to wrap his arms around your waist and rest his head on yours. To share your content vibe, to be the reason for it. To hum with you and to keep you all to his own. You swirled your fingers, letting your magic create a little spoon in your hand and dipping it into the sauce. You took a taste, and scrunched your eyebrows together. 

 

Grillby hushed his flames as they flickered wildly. You were so  _ cute _ . 

 

You reached for the cupboard, pulling out a few spices, humming as you shook in some thyme, some oregano, and then tasting it again. Satisfied, you let the spoon dissipate in your hand, and turned toward him, eyes finally looking away from the stove. They met with his, and you jumped, letting out a startled yelp at his presence and clutching at your heart. 

 

“Grillby!” you breathed, eyes wide. 

 

“Sorry,” he apologized, taking a step further into the kitchen. The counter with the finished plates of food rest along the right hand side of the wall. Pretty easy to access, but not quite right next to the door. He passed you, grabbing the two finished plates, and walking back to the door. “Spaghetti for one, and whatever you wanna make for the second.” He said, and you gave him a quick nod and a half smile before turning back to the stove, letting out a heavy breath. 

 

He left the kitchen, mind still on you. You looked tired. It’s been three days since you started cooking, and he watched you slowly run out of steam. The first day, you were  _ greased lightning  _ in the kitchen; he could barely keep up with your movements. The second, you looked like a master chef, but a bit slower. Today, you looked normal speed. 

 

He slid a salad on one table, and a bread-bowl on another, humming as thanks came to him from both patrons and heading back to the bar. 

 

He remembered you telling him you didn’t need sleep at some point in time, but he was beginning to doubt that now. 

 

“-llbz.”

 

He wondered if you were using too much magic to cook and clean. Would you keep wearing down like this till you passed out? 

 

“-llbz!” 

 

Could he force you away from cleaning through the night to come sleep? He could give you the be-

 

“GRILLBY I BELIEVE MY BROTHER IS ATTEMPTING TO GAIN YOUR ATTENTION!” 

 

Grillby jumped from his thoughts, looking at Papyrus and then at Sans. Sans had an eye bone raised, and Grillby shrugged, waving a hand. 

 

“Yyyyeah,” Sans said, looking at Grillby with tiny pinpricks of lights. “You okay bud?” 

 

A nod. 

 

“I was just wondering how you choose the music on the jukebox.” He jabbed a thumb toward the crooning machine. The music skipped. “wanted to put in a few requests.”  

 

“Just punch it in. No cost.” Grillby said dismissively, pulling out a cup and mixing new drinks for the dog monsters in the corner. Sans nodded with a mischievous smile, and hopped off the stool, meandering his way to the jukebox. He reached the jukebox just as it finished up the last song, and started another. Sans looked down to the viewing screen, and paused when he saw the “Now Playing:” section. He raised an eyebrow, and turned around, heading back to the stool. 

 

“WHAT DID YOU DECIDE TO PLAY, BROTHER?”    
  
“Nothing,” Sans hopped back onto his seat, and looked at Grillby suspiciously. “It chose for me.” 

 

Grillby looked up with a puff of flames, and gave him a small shrug as the song began with quick plucks of piano. Papyrus perked up. “WOWIE! THIS SONG SOUNDS VERY UPBEAT! I LIKE IT ALREADY!” 

 

“Skeleton, you are my friend, but you are made of bone,” 

 

“I LIED. SANS. YOU’RE HORRIBLE!” 

 

“What? You can’t  get down to Kate Nash? I think she’s gonna be the next big thing. I can feel it in my  _ bones _ ” Sans winked and chuckled as Papyrus moaned. 

 

“PLEASE, SPAGHETTI, GET HERE SOON SO I CAN EAT AND LEAVE. THIS IS TORTURE!” 

 

Grillby chuckled, finishing the drinks and leaving the two skeleton brothers to their shenanigans. He went to the dog’s table, and dropped off their drinks with a small head-bow. After hearing their thankful woofs, he turned and returned to the kitchen. The door swung closed behind him, and he immediately found you, a plate in each hand, walking to the ‘finished food’ counter. He said your name, and you looked up. 

 

“Oh,” your eyes lit up at the sight of him, “Here’s the spaghetti and other thing,” You turned walking toward him with a smile. “I made meatloaf, if that’s alright?” 

 

He looked at the plate. The meatloaf was cut into thin slices, laid on top of each other, and smothered in cooked ketchup. “It’s perfect,” He said, taking the plates from your hands. You smiled, face a little red, and let go of the plates. You breathed shallowly for a moment, weariness evident in your eyes. 

 

“Any other orders?” you asked. 

 

“Not right now,” Grillby said, shifting the plates for a moment. “Take a break?” 

 

“Ah,” You looked around the kitchen, “maybe...” 

 

Grillby nodded, and turned, leaving the kitchen. He looked toward the Skeleton Brothers who were arguing about  _ something _ . As he got closer...

 

“-NATIMATE OBJECTS CANNOT BE ALIVE, BROTHER!” 

 

“I swear tho, paps, that thing’s alive. And it’s funny as hell.” 

 

“BROTHER! YOU ARE EATING TOO MUCH GREASE! IT IS GETTING TO YOUR BRAIN!” 

 

“I don’t have a brain, bro.” 

 

“SANS PLEA- OH LOOK THE FOOD!” 

 

Grillby slid the plates in front of the brothers, pulling out an extra ketchup bottle for Sans. They both thanked you and began eating. Papyrus squealed in delight, and Sans raised an eyebrow, impressed. 

 

“WOWIE! FANTASTIC!” 

 

“Gotta say, I agree with Paps here. This is pretty good.” 

 

Grillby nodded, returning to polishing a cup and just listening to their idle chatter. He enjoyed listening to the two brothers; they had been neighbors for long enough underground that he knew both of them rather well. Now, listening to them bicker about the existence of a sentient being in his jukebox brought him immense entertainment. 

 

That is, until the entire bar fell into an eerie silence. 

 

Grillby sensed it immediately; the tension in the air was palpable. He looked to the entrance to his bar, and immediately frowned. His shoulders tensed, flames crackled. Standing right inside of the door, dressed to the nines and holding a bouquet of roses, stood a human. 

 

The other monsters looked at him with apprehension. Not quite distrust, but not quite full acceptance either. Humans didn’t visit the monster area. Since the moment they broke through the barrier, they had their own area. It wasn’t quite planned that way, it just seemed to happen. Humans didn’t come here. And here stood a human, in the middle of rush hour, a bouquet the size of of a pillow in hand, in Grillby’s bar. 

 

The thing that made Grillby’s flames pop and crackle most, though, was that the man standing in front of the door was the same man from the shop. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *huff huff* yeah. This chapter was frustrating. I saved a lot of the re-write things on a different doc, and i"m thinking of posting a few on Grillky.tumblr.com not sure yet though. 
> 
> Kudos make me smile :) 
> 
> Comments make me sing! 
> 
> Don't be a stranger, I love friends! 
> 
> Uhh...
> 
> *dips out*


	11. A Poisoned Drink?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The drink's not poisoned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohgod i'm so sorry guys. 
> 
> I fell into a depression for a week. Skipped class, slept all day, didn't shower. the whole shebang. Couldn't write a LICK.  
> *trying to make light of things*  
> I got Beh'her! 
> 
> So yeah I wrote this. 
> 
> kay.  
> Aria-cappricio with: (These are all so adorable omg)  
> http://grillky.tumblr.com/image/140172685652  
> http://grillky.tumblr.com/image/140172741957  
> http://grillky.tumblr.com/image/140290884419  
> http://grillky.tumblr.com/image/140328915643
> 
> Glittermelon! (hot damn dat dress. n/ dat hair)  
> http://glittermelonsart.tumblr.com/post/140175073811/the-silky-reader-from-the-fic-a-house-or-a-home-by
> 
> Krisnoli with a blonde take on Reader (love the shirt!)  
> http://grillky.tumblr.com/image/140219344657
> 
> watteaudoing or Glitterbark with THIS (jesus fuck this looks like something straight out of a mythical creatures book!)  
> http://glitterbark.tumblr.com/post/140616803741/so-i-sorta-had-to-flee-my-room-cuz-my-roommate-had
> 
> guineapig5 with (that smile though!)  
> http://guineapig5.tumblr.com/post/140583177420/zait
> 
> and WINDHARMONY with a SPEEDPAINT AND EVERYTHING  
> http://windharmony.tumblr.com/post/140275285741/yet-another-drawing-for-a-house-or-a-home-im-not
> 
> like. Wow guys. Wow. I love this so much. It brings me so much happiness!

  
  
  


In the history of Grillby’s bar, there has only been two instances that you could hear a pin drop to the floor. The first occurred underground when Sans made his first fire-related pun, and everyone waited for Grillby to murder him. 

 

The second was now. 

 

The human, nervousness coming off him in waves, took a tentative step forward, then another. Monsters had forks halfway to their mouths as they watched the human make its journey to the bar. Grillby could tell the human was scared; its face paled the closer he got to Grillby. 

 

Good. 

 

The music faded out, pulling away any relief from the tension with it, making the human’s tremors more pronounced. He stopped in front of Grillby, next to Sans, shaking like a leaf. “I-is the S-silky here?” he stuttered, swallowing. Grillby’s flames popped, making the human jump. 

 

“Why?” Grillby spit, voice sounding more like a roaring wildfire than an actual voice. The human flinched, then motioned toward the flowers for a moment. Sans and Papyrus, to the human’s left, quickly dipped their heads; this was Grillby’s fight. 

 

“I-I-I f-found her b-beautiful s-since the mome-moment I s-saw her,” he started, staring at the flowers rather than Grillby’s face, which was already hot enough to have the human dripping in sweat. Grillby felt his neck prickle at the Human’s voice. He already didn’t trust this scrawny little weasel, and now he was in here, in  _ his bar _ , asking about  _ his...  _ well... you. Asking about you with that nervous demeanor, in that untrustworthy voice, with that  _ ugly  _ little face. 

  
“And?” Grillby could feel his magic flitting in his fingers; the glass in his hands began to warp in his hands. The human seemed to see it as well, as he fell silent for quite a good amount of time, gawking at the glowing red glass. 

 

He swallowed again, pulling at his collar. “I wanted to... ah... I wanted t-to ask her...” The human fell silent, eyes widening as the glass dripped between Grillby’s fingers, falling to the counter and eliciting sizzling cries from the abused wood. The human looked like he was ready to turn around and leave, but something steeled in his eyes. He took a breath, swallowed. “I wanted to ask her o-on a....a date...” 

 

Pop! Pop pop! 

 

The flames on Grillby’s head went wild, sending sparks and embers shooting into the air. His hand closed on whatever remaining glass rested between his fingers, and the fissure that was his mouth began to reveal itself, white hot and searing and horrible.The human nearly broke into blubbering tears, but just barely held it together. He swallowed, righting his shoulders and clutching the flowers with white-knuckled strength. 

 

Sans had about seen enough. If he didn’t intervene, he was sure the poor human was going to suffer from a heart attack. Or Grillby would kill him. Either way, a human would be dead, and that would  _ not  _ be good. He put down his ketchup, and looked up. 

 

“While i’m never one to stop a  _ heated  _ argum-” 

 

“There’s no need to get so  _ fired up _ ,” a soft, feminine voice interrupted Sans, and a hand rested lightly on his shoulder. Sans’s gaze flicked up, and he froze. 

 

The person’s second hand rested on the human’s, who looked up at the body connected to it, and also froze. The woman brushed her fingers across the human’s hand, coaxing him to loosen his death grip on the flowers. The human did, receiving a warm smile from the woman. 

 

Grillby stood behind the bar, confused as he looked the woman up and down. She wore a soft summer dress, a quiet beige, and tiny leather bracelets hung from her wrists. Her hair, blond and curly, cascaded over one shoulder, brushing over her perfectly unblemished skin. Her gaze shifted from the human to the bartender, and she gave him a soft smile and a quick wink. 

 

With those deep sapphire eyes. 

 

“So,” Zait’s eyes flickered back to the human, and she gave him a genuine smile. “What’s got you both so  _ heated?”  _ She questioned, letting her hand slide off of the human. “Do you two have some  _ bad blood _ or something?” 

 

“Uhh,” The human stuttered, calmer but still nervous in the presence of the beautiful woman in front of him. “I, uhh...” Her hand reached his shoulder, and she brushed it lightly.  “I wanted to... I wanted to ask the Silky.... the one that that lives here...” He looked around, making quick eye contact with a still simmering Grillby, and then over at Sans, who was still staring at the woman. He took a quick steadying breath “o-on a....” he looked down at the flowers, face twisting into something more akin to guilt than nerves. “On a...” He took a deep breath in, chest rising and head leaning back as he mustered all his courage...

 

And fell short. 

 

“Ahh fuck it,” He finally let out, dropping the flowers onto the counter, his butt into a stool, and his head into his elbows, and onto the counter. He let out a loud groan, lifting his head and dropping it back to his arms multiple times, the resounding thud bringing a flinch to Sans’s face. “I can’t do this.” He mumbled, hiding his face. “I can’t!” 

 

The tension in the room snapped, flooding confusion throughout the participating party. Grillby’s flames calmed down, the popping and cracking fading away as his bartending mind kicked in; he immediately felt sympathy and backed off, ready to listen. Zait placed her hand on his back, rubbing it back and forth a bit. Sans blinked. 

 

“YOU CAN DO ANYTHING YOU SET YOUR HEART TO, HUMAN!” Papyrus pitched in, leaning past Sans to see the human, “I BELIEVE IN YOU!” 

 

“You shouldn’t,” the human mumbled, voice muffled by his arms. He turns to look at the larger skeleton, a frown pinching his face. “You  _ really  _ shouldn’t.” 

 

“AND WHY IS THAT? YOU ARE THE FIRST HUMAN TO ENTER THE MONSTER DISTRICT, AS FAR AS I KNOW! THAT IS A MONSTROUS ACCOMPLISHMENT! NYEHEH!”

 

“And I did it for  _ money _ ,” the human moaned, squeezing their eyes shut to prevent the threatening tears. The party flinched, Zait’s hand stilling on the humans back. Realization settled over her, and she withdrew her hand from his back, clenching it into a fist. 

 

“You wanted to  _ steal  _ her.” She accused, the genuine tone gone, venom dripping from her lips now. The human curled into himself more. 

 

“Wanted to what?” Sans squinted, looking at Zait. 

 

“How was I supposed to turn down this chance?” The human muttered. “They’re worth hundreds of  _ thousands!”  _

 

“So what?” Zait had dropped both her hands to her sides, clenching and unclenching them as she bored holes into the human’s back with her eyes. “You waltz in here with roses and a smile, thinking you can just... what...  _ woo  _ her to leave with you so you can  _ sell  _ her? That’s. That’s-” 

 

“Zait.” Grillby cut in, voice deep and calm. Zait’s eyes shot up to him, figure shimmering and blurring at the edges. 

 

“Grillby! This  _ thing,”  _ she motioned to the human, who had shrunk enough for Sans to worry for his well being, “was trying to  _ steal  _ her!  _ Commodify  _ her! He was going to take her away and  _ sell-”  _

 

_ “ _ Was _.”  _ Grillby calmly interjected, silencing Zait with one word. She froze up, staring at him with liquid anger. Grillby bent down, reaching under the counter and pulling out a glass. He placed it on the counter, squaring his face with Zait’s. “ _ Was.”  _ he reiterated, and Zait dropped her shoulders. Grillby nodded, turning back and grabbing a bottle of whisky. 

 

Silence fell over the group as Grillby set to work. Whisky, some hot water. As he worked on the drink, his mind flicked through a trail of thoughts. Why was he not mad at the human anymore? He knew from the beginning that the human could not be a physical threat to him or you. You were both strong enough to take one fidgety human. But as he stood there, just moments ago, holding those flowers over his face, Grillby couldn’t stop the furious anger that overtook him. He added a good squeeze of honey, letting it settle on the bottom. It was odd, actually. He was less angry now, even though he knew that this human had come in to... commodify... you. He felt his flames pop at that thought, and corrected himself. He was still angry. Furious, actually. But it was different. Instead of an exploding anger wishing to throw this human out the door, it was rather an underlying burning, an aimless rolling boil that built in his throat and tightened his chest. He dropped a cinnamon stick into the cup, and held the cup in his hands, heating up the cup. At the sound of his crackling hands, the human looked up, staring at the glass. Grillby paused for a moment, realizing his anger was no longer pointed at the human. No, the human didn’t actually want to dat-commodify you. He just needed money. And he gave up. No, the dejected human in front of him was not dangerous. He finished heating the drink up, and stirred it with the cinnamon stick, letting the honey’s darker gold dissolve into the whisky. He placed it in front of the human. “It’s hot.” 

 

The human looked at the drink, blinking. 

 

“Careful, it might be poisoned,” Sans unhelpfully interjected with a smirk. 

 

“I would have poisoned it,” Zait added as Sans attempted to recover from the burst of flame in his face. The next burst of flame smacked Zait in the face, curling outward before dissipating into the air. Zait didn’t even flinch; she just raised an eyebrow. “What? I  _ would. _ Just saying.” She shrugged. Sans chuckled; her gaze flickered to his, and they locked eyes for a moment. She gave him a smile, he lost his breath. 

 

“POISONING PEOPLE DOES NOT AID IN THE CREATION OF NEW FRIENDSHIP!” Papyrus scolded, “AND I WOULD PREFER YOU DID NOT KILL THE SECOND HUMAN I HAVE EVER MET!” 

 

“I wouldn’t want to be friends with this shit stain in my  _ wildest dreams.”  _ Zait rolled her eyes, stepping away from behind the human, and walking past Sans and Papyrus back to the jukebox, Sans’s eyes quick to follow. “And i would suggest the same thing to you.” One quick hop, and she was seated on the top, crossed legs and bored faced. The jukebox, previously silent, garnished her attention once more, and began to sing. “I knew you were trouble” by Taylor Swift began pumping through the speakers, and she looked pointedly at the human (who was pointedly ignoring her pointedly looking at him). 

 

“WELL!” Papyrus paused, at a loss for words to rebuttal Zait’s suggestion. His mouth clicked shut, then open again, “I DO NOT BELIEVE THAT IS YOUR DECISION TO MAKE?” 

 

“Guess not.” Zait shrugged. Papyrus let out a sigh, as if it really  _ was  _ her decision to make. 

 

“GREAT! THEN I DECIDE TO MAKE FRIENDS WITH..... BOTH HUMANS!!!” He exclaimed, holding his hand out to Zait. “I SHALL START WITH YOU! HELLO, HUMAN! I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS!” He beamed at Zait, who just stared at him with squinted eyes. Finally, both her eyebrows raised, and her face twisted into disgust.

 

_ “...Human?” _ She scoffed, laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the statement. Papyrus, shocked and confused, let his hand drop from the air. “Oh my sweet, sweet skeleton.” She leaned forward with a bright toothed smile; it was only Sans who saw the broken aspect of those upward curled lips. “I am the furthest thing from  _ human  _ you will ever meet.” 

 

“OH....” Papyrus trailed off, “...SO..... YOU ARE.... A MONSTER?” 

 

“Nope!” Zait said, leaning back against the wall behind the jukebox. 

 

“THEN, A MYTHIC!” Papyrus exclaimed as if he had found the answer to a puzzle. Sans chuckled at his excitement, but trailed off when he saw the juke-box woman’s face. 

 

“....No.” Zait said, looking at her knees. No, she wasn’t a mythic... She was a Muse,no, a  _ hundredth  _ of a muse. One of a hundred copies of one hundredth of something great. What did that make her, though? What category did she fit in? Her shoulders slumped, lips pulled into a straight line. Sans frowned; watching this beautiful personality fold into itself was a painful, but familiar sight.

 

“THEN, WHAT ARE YOU?” Papyrus asked, literally tilting his head to the side. Sans inwardly chuckled; it was just like his brother to miss or skip by such an emotionally torn apart face. 

 

“I’m....” Zait trailed off, scrunching her eyebrows together. “I’m... Zait? Myself, I guess.” She said uncertainly, shrugging as she looked at Papyrus. 

 

“ZAIT! I HAVE NEVER HEARD OF THAT BEFORE! ALRIGHT! ZAIT! IT IS A PLEASURE!” He held out his hand without a beat, shocking Zait from the darkness of her own mind. She looked at his hand, then to his smiling, welcoming face, then back to his hand. She took a small breath in, and held it. Tentatively, she took his hand, feeling his soft glove wrap firmly around her fingers. “ZAIT!” Papyrus repeated, trying the word on his teeth curiously. His gloved hand tightened, and he shook her hand once, twice before just holding it in the air. “WELL! YOU CERTAINLY ARE ONE OF A KIND! I SURE AM LUCKY TO MEET YOU!” 

 

Zait looked at the large skeleton, eyes locking with Papyrus’s. He just smiled at her, genuinely happy. Her eyes widened, lips parted. She let the breath she didn’t know she was holding go in a soft exhale; with it went the tension in her shoulders, and half her heart, floating in the air to be captured in the cage of Papyrus’s ribs. 

 

The jukebox seemed to add a few extra harmonies to Taylor Swift’s song, and Sans knew he had just seen someone fall in love. 

 

Mainly because at that exact moment, he was feeling the same thing. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

It took quite a while for the human to nurse his Hot Tobby. Sans and Papyrus had left quite a while ago, and Zait had returned to the jukebox, the songs sticking to smooth jazz for now. The Human wasn’t half way done with his drink, mostly staring at the golden liquid, still tense, still guilt-ridden, still not talking, still nursing that one drink.

 

Since the placing of the drink, Grillby had not moved; he just stood behind the bar, cleaning his glass and waiting patiently. The rest of the restaurant's guests seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, and had silently agreed to ask for no assistance as long as the Human stood in the establishment. 

 

So Grillby stood there watching the human lean over his drink, defeated. Grillby was a patient man, and he prided himself in his knowledge of how people worked. Based on how this human held himself, Grillby surmised that if he waited long enough, the human would talk. And talking was what Grillby needed. Sure, Grillby  _ wanted  _ to kick the man from his bar, and frighten him to never coming back. Grillby  _ wanted  _ to close the bar and spend the rest of the day with you not more than a yard from him. Grillby  _ wanted  _ to tell the human that you and he were... Grillby wanted to do a  _ lot  _ of things, but none of what he  _ wanted  _ to do would get him what he needed. 

 

No, only patience would get him answers. So Grillby swallowed that rolling anger, the heated fire-keg that was his upset magic screaming to rip him and the human apart in a blazing explosion of flame and rage. 

 

The soft clink of the cup hitting the counter gave Grillby enough warning before the human coughed once, looking at nothing. “I thought about this a lot before I came, y’know,” He started,  _ knowing  _ that this was what Grillby was waiting for. Grillby’s answer to the final break in silence was to take the human’s cup, place it in the sink behind the bar, and pull out a fresh glass. Grillby began mixing another drink as the Human hesitantly continued with a dry laugh. “Heh, it’s pretty easy to, uhh,  _ ignore  _ the  _ humanity  _ of... ahh shit that’s not the right word, the.. The... uhh.” He huffed, frowning. “It’s easy to ignore what humans do to Mythics when I’m not the one actually....  _ Doing  _ it, y’know?” His hands flailed in the air as he spoke, and it sounded like he was trying to justify his actions to even himself. He paused, dropping his hands back to the counter, pursing his lips. “But when I started thinking about coming here... when I looked up your bar, y’know? I, uhh, started thinking, like,  _ really  _ thinkin’, about my actions, and, and how they would  _ affect  _ her n’ all, and about- oh. Thank you.” Grillby placed a martini in front of the human. He picked the olived toothpick from the liquid, and twirled it between his fingers. The repetitive action seemed to calm him a bit, and he continued with a heavy breath. “I never thought about how we pretty much  _ enslave  _ the mythics, but... when I thought about  _ her, _ and how normal she looks and stuff... I started to really question if it was right for me to try and  _ sell  _ that.” He dropped the olives back into the drink, and took a sip. “But,” he mused, “Seven hundred grand is  _ a lot  _ of money.” 

 

Grillby sparked in surprise. Seven hundred thousand dollars for you? A surge of protectiveness over-took him as he realized just how much people would do for that sum of money. If this meek human could throw away his morals for money, and overcome his fear to be the first to walk into the Monster District... What about humans with more determination? What about humans with Love? He felt the nervousness come, the panic.

 

“How many people know?” He asked. The human didn’t answer. The silence was only broken by the quick, sporadic crackling of Grillby. Heat coiled in his chest, boiling up from where it had finally calmed, pulsing through his arms and nearly choking him with anger. 

 

“How many people.” He demanded now, and the human pointedly looked away. Grillby understood the human’s silence, but was not satisfied. He needed to know. His  _ anger  _ needed to know. He bent down, placing both hands on the counter, squaring his face with the Human’s, and speaking in a low, dangerous voice. “How. Many.” 

 

The human shivered, “I posted it on an online blog! It had a couple thousand views after only a few hours!” 

 

It was evident then that the entire bar was listening to the conversation, as the silence that followed marked the third time you could hear a pin drop in Grillby’s bar. 

  
  


“.......Get out.” Grillby heard his voice say, but it sounded muffled behind the anger coursing through his body. The human looked up guiltily, and blanched.

 

“Sh-sh-sh-should I pa-” 

 

“GET OUT!” Grillby roared, flames shooting outward in every direction, charring the ceiling and reverberating through the entire bar. The human didn’t pause for even a second before he scrambled out of his stool and skittered out of the restaurant, the door swinging shut quite a few seconds after the Human was down the street. The patrons of the bar watched the door click shut in complete silence, afraid to even breath in front of-

 

“GET OUT!” Grillby shouted again, waving his hands in a wild motion toward the door, and the monsters scrambled just as the human did, crowding at the door and nearly bowling over themselves in their attempt to flee from the monster that was Hellfire. Grillby felt his shirt incinerating under his heat as his magic exploded outward just as the final monster escaped out the front door. Flames engulfed the entire restaurant only briefly before Grillby could stifle them, leaving licks of char on nearly every surface. He could not, though, control the fire rolling off his body in horrifying quantities. 

 

“Grillby!” He heard your voice, and flicked his head toward the kitchen door as it swung open, and you came running out “I heard you yell! Is everything allri-” You had turned toward him, and froze, eyes widening in stark terror, breath stopping. 

 

It was only when you sprinted toward and tackled him that he remembered how Jerry died. You both went tumbling to the floor, you on top of him. 

 

Your hands pat wildly at his chest and arms, trying with all their might to put out the excess flames licking his body as you chanted, “no no no no no no-” The flames licked at your skin, but did not burn you. Your clothing, though, caught fire almost immediately. 

 

Grillby said your name, reigning his magic as best he could. His anger quickly faded away in your presence, morphing into concern at your panicked face hovering above him, flicking back and forth over his figure, despair at the amount of excess fire you couldn’t put out. 

 

You didn’t stop; you patted at him wildly, fear coursing through your veins. You couldn’t lose another. You couldn’t. “Not you. Not you. No no Please I can’t lose you too. Not you. Please!” You frantically wailed. Your chest-the tether in your chest shook wildly, threateningly, pulling taut and trying to rip free from it’s bonds, trying with all it’s might to reach Grillby. 

 

Grillby reached out his arms, wrapping one around your waist, and one around the back of your head, pulling you to his chest. You fell onto him, and his hand on your head held you firm, his voice right next to your ear. 

 

“I’m fine,” he said, holding you flush to him, clutching you as if he were fearing for you rather than you for him, “I’m fine.” He said again, and you believed him. Your immediate panic faded, and your previously flailing hands now wrapping around him as best you could, holding him just as close as he was you. He was firm, solid in your arms, and soft. You might have noticed more if you weren't overtaken with relief and tears, burying your face into his neck as he lightly stroked your hair. “I’m fine,” He said again, flames dying down to their normal size as your shoulders finally relaxed. You could feel his arm around your waist, holding you close and not letting go. You could finally let the second half of your breath out; Grillby felt you relax into his chest, and could finally relax himself. 

 

You were fine. You were still here, no one had come and stolen you. He let his hand trail along the small of your back, running over the ties that kept your cooking apron over your clothing absentmindedly. It didn’t fare well under his flames; the cloth fell apart under his wandering fingers. He told himself that he could protect you, that humans valued their lives more than money, that as long as he could make them fear death, you would be safe. 

 

And he could do that. For you. Because...

 

“I’m fine,” He said once again, tilting his head to the side just enough to brush a soft kiss right in front of your ear. “I’m sorry,” He whispered. When he turned to look up again, you tilted your head and kissed the side of his face in the same way, blubbering laughter against his skin. 

  
  


“I thought you were burning,” You laughed, pressing your face against his head, “I just saw so much fire, and!...You, a man of fire, burning!” You laughed again. “If anyone should be apologizing, it should be me for tackling you.” You scoffed at yourself, patting him once with a hand wrapped around his shoulder. 

 

“No,” Grillby said, a chuckle rumbling in both his chest and yours. “It’s fine.” 

 

You both fell silent, still clutching the thing you didn’t want to lose most, revelling in their corporeality and warming in their grasp. 

 

For just a moment, everything felt right with the world. 

 

“Yeah, for a moment at least,” Zait pitched in, drawing Grillby’s gaze and your attention. “I’m just waiting for either of you guys to realize that you’re naked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long! It's 5 am here, and I'm so hyped up on... writing? I udnno. 
> 
> I've been really depressed, so i know i haven't been writing, but I'm back on the train now! Ya'alls love has really helped! 
> 
> I'm better now!  
> I'm better now!  
> If I keep saying that, i'll be better eventually!  
> I'm better now!
> 
> *deep breath*  
> I love you guys. Thanks for all the support.


	12. Embers, Coals, Black Holes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Naked talks and more magic and I really need sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uuuuggghhhhhh it's 1 am and i'm dying of tired-ness i'm gonna diiieeeee
> 
> not as much art this chapter around, but still p awesome! Got lots of different interpretations of Reader! I like them I like them!   
> WinterBugsy!  
> http://bugsyart.tumblr.com/post/141317082099/doodles-of-my-interpretation-of-the-main-character
> 
> PotatoLeaves!  
> http://potatoleaves.tumblr.com/post/141364772390/a-house-or-a-home-fan-art-sorry-that-it-sucks
> 
> PoudinGrain  
> http://grillky.tumblr.com/image/141471406572
> 
> If you have any art, comments, suggestions, music, anything. Just pop onto Grillky.Tumblr.com ! ! I answer pretty timely, and your guys's talkin' really keeps me going! 
> 
> *eyes drooping* 
> 
> I have to post this before I drop into the world of sleep....

Your breath hitched. 

 

You could feel everything now. 

 

In a matter of moments, you noticed many things. Your hands were splayed out around his shoulders, and you could feel the firm smoothness of his biceps. He felt like a sun-dried towel on a chilly morning. His chest was just as powerful as his biceps; you could feel it well enough with how you were pressed against him. Your entire front was warm, and you couldn’t help but notice how your stomachs pressed together, or how your legs entwined with his. 

 

You noticed the distinct  _ lack  _ of breathing coming from him there,- his chest was completely still- and you knew he was about as frozen as you. 

 

His arm was still wrapped around the small of your back, his hand frozen, pressed against your side. You could feel the strip of warmth contrasting the chill of the now flameless air surrounding you. That same warmth clenched into a fist on the back of your head. 

 

“............oh.” You heard Grillby’s voice next to your ear, seemingly deeper now, more raspy. It stopped your heart, sent chills down your spine and up your neck and across your arms. You couldn’t stop the involuntary response that followed. 

 

“Oh.....” You replied breathily, still frozen in his firm grasp. 

 

“Oh,” Zait mocked, smirking as she let herself float through the air, propping her head in her hands, and her hands on nothing as she waited. Her presence was merely a passing thought, though. 

 

You could feel his cheek touching yours, the heat exuding from his mouth grazing your ear, and you were sure that as long as you were so close to him, your mind would not return to a functional state. So you moved your hands a little, bracing one on his chest, and pushed yourself up just enough for his head to turn his eyes to lock onto yours. 

 

You froze again, staring into his searing eyes. He didn’t move, his face melting into a soft expression you couldn’t quite handle. Your lips parted as you got lost in his beauty, the flames that naturally flickered across his face and down his neck. The little flames licked between your fingers and shimmered with their own light. You were sure, if you looked close enough, that you could see the flames vibrate with the pulse of his being, and it took your breath away. 

 

Streams of ore, black as coal but glowing the dark red of a burning ember and engulfed in his natural flames acted as the plates of his pectorals and the rolling abs underneath. His shoulders held the same pattern, with the dark burning black streaming through the fibres of what would be his muscles, and catching and twisting with his biceps and triceps. They faltered here and there, twisting in what looked like would be unnatural ways, breaking apart to reveal just the burning red of weaker flames, and you realized you must be looking at scars. Your eyes followed the ore trails up his arms and down his chest, and stopped near the left side of his chest, where the embers lost their continuity and pattern to form a tearing fissure across his pectoral, weaker flames around the edge fading into just black burning embers at the center. 

 

Even his scars were beautiful.....

 

He was beautiful. 

 

The jukebox clicked on and whirred for a moment. 

 

Here was the most beautiful creature you had ever seen in your life, right in your grasp, under your fingers, his expression perfectly explaining and mirroring the emotions swirling through your mind like a whirlwind of awe and content and wonder and excitement and  _ love _ .....

 

Here he was....

 

Sprawled underneath... you..... 

 

.....

 

Naked...

 

“OH!” You yelped, slamming both your hands into his chest and shoving off of him, flailing backwards as the jukebox began to croon a pretty quick paced song. You flailed more, falling to the side and slamming into the wall of liquor. Grillby, who had been completely frozen up until that moment, flicked his head toward the wall now, and his eyes widened in horror at the large bottle of tequila falling straight toward your head. 

 

_ “You know that it would be untrue,”  _

 

Grillby shot up from the floor and barrelled into you, wrapping one arm around your shoulders and holding his other hand out for the incriminating Tequila bottle. He caught it with an audible smack to his hand.

 

“ _ You know that I would be a liar,”  _

 

You found yourself pinned between the wall, his arm, and his  _ perfect  _ chest as he let out a relieved sigh. You couldn’t breath. Somewhere in the distance you could hear Zait’s cackling. 

 

_ “If I was to say to you, girl we couldn’t get much higher...”  _

 

“Uhh,” you stammered out, eyes wide. Grillby, still trapped in the fight or flight sequence but coming down quickly, froze up once again. Complete silence fell between both of you; even Zait seemed to hold her breath (and turn up the music). 

 

“ _ Come on baby light my fire.”  _

 

And with that, you were both scrambling. Grillby released you like you were water, and propelled himself backward faster than you could realize what was going on. You made eye contact again, and in a spark of panicked genius, propelled yourself backwards as well, letting your body lose corporeality as you phased through the wall and toppled through the kitchen cupboards behind it. You fell onto the kitchen floor, body already complaining about your use of the Shadows as you scrambled to your hands and knees, and then to your feet. The remnants of your clothing, tattered scorched rags clinging to your hips, finally let go, falling to the ground. 

 

You had to hide! 

 

Your eyes shot around the room. Cupboards, a small pantry, and the stairs. The stairs! 

 

Wait. Grillby will be going up those! 

 

You whipped around and dashed to the pantry, yanking the door open and throwing yourself inside, pulling it shut behind you. It was only when the door clicked shut behind you that you realized you still had no clothing. 

 

The kitchen door clicked open, and you could see the light below the pantry door change hue; orange warned you of Grillby’s presence. You held your breath, listening as his rushed footsteps bounded up the stairs, presumably two by two based on how they sounded. 

 

He skipped the 4th step. 

 

You let yourself breathe again, pressing your back to the pantry door, listening to the music from the bar area; the voices were muffled by the two doors and walls in the way, but you could clearly hear Zait’s howls of laughter. 

 

You hated her. 

 

....

 

Okay you didn’t  _ hate  _ her, but you hated her. 

 

You let out a sigh and slid down the door till you were seated on the cold tile, mind once again lost in the plane that was Grillby’s chest. His scars were gorgeous, but you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering what battles brought them about. Who slashed him? How did he get away? How much pain was he in? 

 

You let your mind wander to the state of your own skin, and you mused ruefully. You  _ should  _ be atrocious with how many people have pierced your flesh, yet your skin was nearly scratch free; you  _ did  _ have countless little scars across your skin, but your body healed so fast and so efficiently when you were Tied that they were barely larger than the clipping of a pinky nail. 

 

But the scars across his arms and along his chest; the black burning embers that pulsed with his life, that cried of past agony....

 

No, compared to Grillby, you got off scotch free.

______________

______________

 

Grillby was rather quick to re-dress, opting for a casual t-shirt and jeans rather than his complicated suit. He  _ did  _ have to bring you clothing, after all. He paused for a moment, feeling his flames nearly double in heat.  _ Be still, my heart, _ he commanded, patting his chest for a moment. A quick steadying breath later, and he returned to buttoning his pants, trying his best to ignore the images of you that commandeered his thoughts. He pulled the shirt over his head, and then walked to your items; you kept pretty much everything you owned in the rafters of the couch. The only exception seemed to be the little figurine sitting next to his on the coffee table. His eyes flickered over to it, and his mind trailed to you. Again. 

 

He had seen the little blemishes littering you skin countless times before; you did not wear long sleeves often, so it was no surprise to see them continue down your neck and across your chest. 

 

If he didn’t know your past, he would have assumed you had once owned a thousand vengeful cats. 

 

No, what surprised him wasn’t the little scars across your body, or the awed look in your eye, or the expanse of your beautiful skin that his lips begged to caress. 

 

What surprised him was the charcoal black wound in the center of your chest, surrounding where the tether left your soul, cold and raw and chafed and exuding copious amounts of grey magic into the surrounding area, keeping the black from spreading further. 

 

Was the tether doing this? 

 

Did you know this was here? 

 

Could you see it? 

 

Grillby pinched the bridge of his nose, sitting on the couch for a moment, huffing a breath. His chest hurt just thinking about the black hole tearing at your soul, pulling at you continuously. How did you  _ live  _ with that? Was that where all your magic went when you lost Gosren? To keeping that  _ thing  _ from engulfing you? 

 

Oh. You still needed clothing.

 

He tried with all his might to push it to the back of his mind, but... it was still there. Was it healthy? Would your body just give up one day? It had been over 700 years. Did you have a time limit that you were unknowingly reaching? 

 

....Would tying to another living being heal you?

 

He shook the idea away, pushing off the couch and bending to look under it. He quickly grabbed a change of clothing for you: pyjamas sounded like a good idea right now. He grabbed it, along with a set of undergarments, and then headed back downstairs. 

 

The fourth step squeaked under his foot, and he looked down at it. Maybe he should try to fix it one more time. 

 

He reached the bottom of the stairs,and turned to the pantry, where he could see the tether leading to. Well. At least he’d always be able to find you. He raised a hand to the door, and knocked twice. 

 

Waited. 

 

The handle on the door turned slowly, and it opened just wide enough for your hand to reach out. He placed the clothing in your open palm, and chuckled when your hand snatched it the rest of the way out of his hand and disappeared back into the pantry, door quickly slamming shut behind it. He looked down at a flurry of movement; his flames flickered in amusement as he noticed the pant leg stuck on the outside of the pantry door. It pulled taut as you tugged it from the other side of the door, but remained lodged. The pantry door quickly opened again, the pant leg was freed, and it shut once more. 

 

Grillby presumed you were just as nervous as he, but maybe a bit less graceful in hiding it. He scratched the back of his neck, and coughed. “I’ll uhh... be.... In the bar...” 

 

Yeah. Graceful. 

 

He absconded with whatever dignity he had left to the bar, and immediately regretted it. 

 

You stood right in front of him, hands on your hips and a cocky smirk gracing your lips. You raised an eyebrow, bright sapphire eyes glittering with mirth. 

 

“Zait,” Grillby warned, voice low and exuding ‘done with your shit.’ 

 

“What?” Zait feigned innocence, flipping her hair behind her shoulder. “I thought it would be easier to face her if you had some  _ practice,”  _ she laughed, curtseying mockingly. She wore the undamaged version of the clothing you were wearing less than an hour ago. When she stood up straight again and waggled her eyebrows at him, he decided that he did not like you with her eyes. “Or did you want her wearing a little  _ less _ ,” she breathed, slipping her sleeves off and letting them slide down her shoulders, slowly revealing more of her chest. 

 

“Zait,” He growled now, patience thin. She laughed, and with a shimmering flash was back to normal, black pigtails fluttering down to her shoulders, headphones back around her neck, feet barefoot once more. It was in brief passing that Grillby noticed that Zait did not put the black hole on your chest. 

 

“Spoilsport,” she muttered, trudging back to the jukebox and hopping on top of it. The kitchen door squeaked behind him, and Grillby turned around to find you standing shyly in the doorframe, staring at your fuzzy-sock clad feet. 

 

“Oh,” Grillby let out, surprised. He was expecting you to hide in that pantry for quite a while longer. 

 

“Oh,” Zait rolled her eyes, “You both are  _ so eloquent _ .” 

 

The dual glare shot from both you and Grillby shut Zait’s mouth, and sent her scurrying into the jukebox with a muttered, “I’m gone! I’m gone!” Once she was completely in the box, it clicked off, filling the jukebox with deafening silence. 

 

Well it was better than her unhelpful comments. 

 

“Uhh,” Grillby started, scratching the back of his neck again. 

 

“Why were you on fire.” You interruption made him start, and his gaze shot to yours. Your eyes were steeled, and he couldn’t decide whether you were angry or determined for answers. Either way, he was thankful for the chance to just pass by the conversation he was about to start, so he accepted the out. 

 

“I lost control of my magic,” he admitted. Well. This conversation was probably going to be just as difficult as the other, but at least this one was one he wanted to have  _ sooner or later _ . 

 

Your face melted a bit after just one answer, but twisted into concern instead, “Why?” You questioned. 

 

Grillby took a deep breath, and turned, walking to the bar. He sat, and motioned for you to sit as well. You followed direction, settling on a barstool. Grillby settled behind the bar, wondering if he should make a drink; something to do with his hands would keep him calm... He decided it would be a good idea, and began the workings of tea. You sat at the bar, watching as he meandered about the bar, pulling cups and tea leaves from the stashes you’ve so often organized and reorganized in your midnight boredom. 

 

You looked down at the counter, and blanched at the mass of melted glass stuck to the wooden surface, surrounded by scorch marks. Half of you wanted to yell at him, to clean the bar and polish it till nothing was left, but the other half simply screamed in worry. Why did he lose control of his magic? Was it a regular occurrence, or something to be worried about? 

 

“I got angry,” Grillby provided, and you stopped, freezing up for a moment before looking up at him. He didn’t stop his movements; he pulled out a small pile of herbs- you recognized them as chamomile; you’ve been over his shelves enough times to tell every leaf from the other just by glance- and placed a small amount on the bottom of two cups. He paused, taking a steadying breath. His flames flickered erratically for a moment, and you realized he must be thinking about what previously angered him. The flames jumped and popped a bit more before settling back to what you have grown to love, and he continued, moving to the water spout to fill each cup with water. “The human from the store came in.” 

 

Your heart jumped to your throat. In the months that you’ve been here with Grillby, no human had ever entered the bar. You would have known; Grillby had complained to you on multiple occasions about the lack of integration between humans and monsters. If a human had entered his bar, you were absolutely positive that you would have known; if not for him telling you, but for the possible afterglow that would no doubt follow for a couple of days. 

 

So here stood a man who should be glowing, but was instead glowering. Your countertop suffered serious fire damage, glass had melted its way into the surface, and the entire downstairs smelled of charred wood. You didn’t want to look around and assess the damage of the rest of the bar; you were sure your little heart couldn’t handle it. 

 

No, right now your mind was too focused on how your Fire Man grew angry enough at this human to melt a cup, lose control of his magic, and scare everyone out of the bar; you were more worried for Grillby. Your heart pounded as Grillby filled each cup, and then held one in his hands, beginning to heat it. You spoke the first thought that came to your mind, “Are you okay?” 

 

The cup shattered in his hands, dumping water over his fingers and palms; the sizzling sound that erupted from his hands had you jumping from your chair and rushing to his side. He hissed in pain, pulling back from the water and shaking his hands; the fire blinked out, leaving behind the same black burning embers you had found along his muscles, but glowing and raw and  _ unnatural  _ looking. He was quick to respond to his injury though, and turned to the alchohol wall behind him, and grabbed the nearest bottle. He popped it open and brought it to the water spout, pouring it over his hand and wrist and letting the remainder pour down the tiny drain under the spigot, all the while wincing and hissing in pain. The embers flared hungrily at the fuel, and burst into flames again, eating and licking away at the alcohol till none was left. He shifted hands, and did the same with his other wrist until the embers were no longer visible, and the bottle was nearly empty. He slid the bottle away from him, and leaned over the counter, staring at nothing in particular. You reached out a hand to him, worry eating your gut. You were about an inch away before you remembered the moment about 30 minutes ago, and paused. 

 

“You’re asking if  _ i’m  _ okay,” He scoffed, shaking angrily. You swallowed, retreating a bit at his bitterness. He slammed his fist onto the counter, flames flaring for a moment. “He wanted to steal you,” Grillby spat out, shaking his head, flames sparking and popping. You recoil, eyes wide. 

 

“S-steal?” 

 

“Sell you to the highest bidder,” He continued, fingers curling into a fist, scratching against the counter and leaving minor scorch marks. “Make you some sort of  _ house slave _ .” You were silent; your lips parted, ears rang. Was this what Zait was talking about? People trying to capture mythics, and enslave them? Were you really valuable enough for someone to try to steal? You swallowed, heart hammering as Grillby shifted, dropping his head and shaking. “He said you were worth 700 thousand at  _ least _ .” 

 

“S-seven hundred  _ thousand???”  _ You stammered, staggering back a step. That was... You’d never even  _ heard  _ of that much money! 

 

“It’s not as much as you think; money’s not as valuable as it was 700 years ago, but that is still a lot,” Grillby said, turning to face you. “It’s enough for a lot of people to do really stupid things.” 

 

“Like come here and try to steal me,” you breathed, looking away from Grillby. You saw him nod in your peripherals, and lost the color in your face. 

 

“Or maybe worse....” Grillby trailed off, and your mind immediately flickered to the General who visited you after Gosren’s death. Sure, the general was a nice man who let you be, but not everyone is so kind. “He posted it on Facebook before he left,” Grillby continued. What the fuck is facebook? “So countless people know about you now.” Oh. Well. Whatever it is, you don’t like it now. Grillby took a breath in; his entire chest rose, and stayed risen for a moment before he let all the air out. You nearly jumped as steam billowed from his mouth, curling and swirling through the air and engulfing your head. You gasped as the steam licked at your face and left your skin damp. You waved your hands through the air, dispelling the rest of the vapor. Grillby gave you a soft apology before he continued, leaning against the counter behind him, holding the counter in the palms of his hands. You noticed that the flames on his wrists and the top of his hands seemed livelier now, less damaged. “More humans might be coming,” He said flatly. You looked at him now, and your heart slammed into your throat at the face he was giving you. His eyes shimmered in worry, his brow pulled together in concern, his lips forming a tight line. “You’re in danger.” 

 

And you believed him. You  _ were  _ in danger. You’ve killed enough humans to know their patterns, their way of thinking, their lust for money and power. If seven hundred thousand dollars was a lot of money, then humans would be flooding this place, all with their own plans to capture you, from non violent scams to murderous rampages.

 

And this time, you didn’t have your boundless magic to protect you. 

 

Your throat closed up, and your chest burst into pain; it felt like someone was crushing you and trying to pull out your soul at the same time. Your legs nearly collapsed under your weight, and you could feel every pulse of your heart. It was if a million years of energy had all collected in your body at this very moment, and if you didn’t release it, you might just explode. You wanted to- you  _ needed  _ to tear your own heart out, to get this feeling  _ out  _ and  _ away _ as soon as possible. Your whole body buzzed in energy, and you found yourself clenching and unclenching your fists, tensing your entire body, rubbing your hands against the sides of your legs. 

 

Ah. This must be what panic feels like. 

 

You were panicking. 

 

You tried to breath, but choked instead. You staggered back, leaning against the alcohol laden wall, clutching your chest. 

 

_ You’ve killed them before; you can kill them again _ . 

 

You shook your head, tears budding at your eyes. No. No, no, not again. You couldn’t do that. You didn’t want to. You didn’t have the power. Your eyes shot around the room, trying to find  _ something _ . What, you didn’t know. You just wanted to find something to make this feeling  _ go away _ . 

 

Grillby saw the look in your eye, saw the panic in your face, and wanted to pull you into his arms, to shush you and tell you that everything was okay, but... You looked like a caged animal more than anything with your darting eyes and panicked breaths. What if holding you would only make it worse? What if it only trapped you more? So he stood there, frozen, unsure of what to do. Did he tell you everything would be fine? Did he tell you to calm down? Did he just hug you anyway? 

 

Hell. Even  _ he  _ was panicking a little. How far would the humans be willing to go? How far would  _ he  _ have to go to protect you? How safe were you to meander the downstairs at night?

 

“Iris,” a voice pulled from the side, and both your and Grillby’s eyes shot to the jukebox. Grillby realized his own budding panic, and stopped his train of thought, turning back to you. Zait stood next to it, hands out, reaching for you. You recoiled, and she paused, retracting her hand. “Listen,” She said, making eye contact with you and not breaking it. The jukebox clicked on, and started playing a soft tune; the single notes rang through the bar and tugged at your mind, plucking enough pressure away from your quivering heart that you could take a shaky breath in. “You’re panicking,” Zait said, and you couldn’t stop the single, broken laugh that erupted from your lips. Zait broke half a smile at it, and nodded. “So you already knew that,” She joked, but got serious again rather quickly, “but you need to breath. We don’t the  _ both  _ of you being a  _ hot mess _ ,” She continued, reaching her hand out again. You let her put it on your shoulder, and she squeezed it lightly, “You’re going to be fine,” she promised, “You’ve got a hundredth of a god and this loser to protect you.” She motioned toward Grillby, and he gave a quick nod, completely ignoring Zait’s jab. 

 

Zait turned back to you. “Plus, you’re stronger than you think, even  _ if  _ you don’t have your magic. Fuck,” She flailed the hand that wasn’t on your shoulder, “You can phase through  _ walls _ ! I didn’t know you could do that!” She exclaimed; you blubbered again, heart pounding a little less severely, chest feeling a little less crushed. “How the fuck are they gonna even  _ capture  _ you if you can just slip  _ through  _ their grasp,” She joked, and you found yourself laughing, tears breaking free from your eyes and streaming down your face. 

 

Grillby was in front of you in seconds, wiping your tears away and stroking your hair. You looked at him, and his eyes met yours, two fiery orbs that begged for you to be okay. And suddenly, you felt okay. Your chest released it’s tension, and your throat cleared up. Zait chuckled, “Plus, you’ve got this  _ dweeb _ who will throw himself in the way of a  _ firehose  _ for you.” Grillby simply nodded, rubbing under your eyes and smoothing your hair down. You didn’t like the image of him in front of a firehose, so you blocked it from your mind, breaking eye  contact with him, looking at the ground. 

 

“I’ll protect you,” you heard Grillby say, his voice laced with equal parts love, encouragement, and righteous fury. 

 

“See what I mean?” Zait rolled her eyes. “With Grillbz around, messing with you is like mashing up The Gorillaz and the Killerz.” You pulled your gaze from Grillby, looking at Zait in confusion. She shrugged, “You just don’t do it.” 

 

“Yes you do,” Grillby interjected, sounding personally offended. You looked at his face, and nearly snorted at his appalled expression. 

 

“Not unless you want to excite a certain fireman,” she shrugged, and Grillby paused, realizing that he fell into her verbal trap. 

 

“Oh,” He muttered, and you couldn’t stop your snort at his dejected face. He perked up upon hearing your laugh, and looked down at you again. You felt his hand cup your cheek, and pull your face up to look at him. You complied, and gave him a soft smile. “Are you feeling better?” He asked. You nodded. “Good,” He breathed a sigh of relief, and then fell serious again, “But I don’t think this conversation is quite done...” 

________________   
________________

 

It wasn’t. In fact, the three of you had barely scratched the surface of the conversation. Zait blamed it on Grillby’s incessant need to cover every possible base in regards to your protection, and you had blushed and lost your voice at her comments. 

 

But you did end up covering as many bases as possible, whether you liked it or not. Grillby insisted that you no longer spend the nights cleaning downstairs, on account of your safety. You had quite a tiff over that, but lost when Zait pointed out that your cleaning was finished in an hour anyway, and you spent the rest of the night re-cleaning everything, and then staring at a wall. 

 

Grillby had frowned at you at that, and you couldn’t meet his gaze. Admittedly, you  _ did  _ spend quite a bit of time blanking out at night. Whether it be an odd hypnotic form of half-sleep, or getting lost in thoughts you probably shouldn’t let plague your mind, you spent quite a bit of time analyzing the walls. 

 

Zait said you had stared through her enough times already for her to memorize every fleck in your irises. “Hence, your new nickname: Iris!” She joked with a shrug. “I never thought i’d be able draw someone’s eye perfectly from memory... And I’m not even the Art Muse! Hah!” You ignored her joking statements, pretty angry at her for outing your habits to Grillby. Either way, the damage had been done, and you were pretty much forced into “actually going to bed, goddamnit.” 

 

The next base you covered consisted of how to take care of the visiting humans. Grillby commented that there would probably be more humans coming in and attempting to “court” you, or convince you to leave or,  _ “Something else diabolical and horrid,”  _ He had spat out, much to Zait’s amusement. 

 

“We could pretend that I don’t exist?” You offered, “Not many people know i’m even here. Just..uhh... Undyne, Alphys, Gerson, you, The one skeleton...Sans?... Zait...” 

 

“You forgot two people.” Grillby cut in with a frown, and you looked up from counting on your fingers. “The human with his Facebook...and... Papyrus.” 

 

“...Papyrus?” You asked, the name unfamiliar. 

 

“Is that the taller skeleton?” Zait asked. Grillby nodded, and Zait frowned in response. “Is he as loud a mouth as his mouth is loud?” Another nod, and Zait was letting out a soft “oh... So you mean all the monsters know about Iris by now?” 

 

Grillby seemed to be in an eternal nod now. 

 

“Oh,” you mumbled, scratching at your arm a bit, looking at the counter. Right now you felt... 

 

“I could scare them away,” Grillby flatlined, fire flickering and popping. “It wouldn’t be hard.” 

 

“And ruin your business? No I don’t think so. I play music here, bub.” 

 

You felt... 

 

“Her safety is more important than-” 

 

“Human Monster relations? Yeah I think that ain’t a good thing to say around us, fire butt. We didn’t do the whole ‘relations’ thing, and look where that got  _ us. _ ” 

 

You felt... helpless. Like these two beings were discussing your future and your safety, and you had no say in it. You were just a bystander for your own life. You felt weak, like you weren’t strong enough to protect even yourself, so now you had two god-like beings hovering over you like doting friends. 

 

It made you feel hollow. 

 

“She’s in  _ danger!”  _

 

“And so are you, alright?” Zait’s voice had gotten louder, pulling you from your stupor. “Listen, Grillb.” Zait, who was previously calmly seated on her jukebox, was floating now, jabbing at Grillby as she got closer, “Whether you like it or not, you’ve become the hub for pretty much all above ground monsters. You’re the friendly face, the affordable food, the perfect position in the town. I’ve been watching this place since the moment i moved in, and all I see is monsters coming here for a slice of calm and happy in these hectic changing times. I hear their stories and their grievances, i  _ know  _ what’s happening outside the borders of this first little town...” Her feet touched the ground again, and she was standing in front of him, jabbing at his chest. “And if you think picking fights with humans is gonna do anything to make this situation better, you’re dead. Wrong. If you scare them, if you get on their bad side, they’ll send a  _ battalion  _ to take you out. To tear you to shreds like they did me.” She was  _ very  _ loud now; you could hear her voice wavering, though, a shakiness that only came from experience. “But here’s the difference between you and me, smoke for brains.” She dropped her hand from his chest, and jabbed a thumb toward herself for emphasis. “ _ I  _ can’t die.” A beat of silence gave you enough time to picture a battalion tearing Zait’s original form apart, piece by piece. You could almost  _ hear  _ her screams for mercy, for the pain to just  _ end _ . Zait’s voice dropped it’s volume, her hand dropped to her side. “You can. And what will that do to everyone relying on your bar for the little happiness it provides in the  _ shit stain  _ of monster existence that is right now, huh? What will that do to  _ her _ .” Zait finished with a rough jab in your direction, making you jump and prickle.

 

What  _ was _ Zait talking about? She hears their grievances? She knows what’s happening? Shitstain of monster existence? You looked over to Grillby, who wouldn’t even move his head in your direction. But, shouldn’t he be proud? He told you from the beginning that he wanted his bar to be a hub; that he wanted to open his little place earlier than the rest so that people would have a place to eat while settling.

 

It sounded like he had achieved his goal...

 

So... Why did he avoid your gaze like a failure coming home to tell his wife they would not be able to feed their child? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.
> 
> Grillky.Tumblr.Com  
> Don't be a stranger! :)
> 
> Umm. Next chapters gonna have a lot of explanation and some setup and stuff, and yada yada and it should be done by the end of the week, probs earlier since SPRING BREAK BITCHESSSSSSSSS
> 
> But. I need sleep. So bad I need sleep. And a drink. 
> 
> A drink would be nice.


	13. The author is "forked" up.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second human arrives, as does the third. Sans and Zait. Grillby and Reader. Uhh. I"m tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 12:30 am. I finally finished this LONG ASS CHAPTER! 
> 
> Not much new stuff on the Tumblr for this chapter; probably since i took so GODAMN long to update.... sorry guys. 
> 
>  
> 
> MIDTERMS
> 
> But I god ONE DONE! 
> 
> GRILLKY.TUMBLR.COM
> 
> OR JUST #GRILLKY WHATEVER oh shit caps. whatever floats your boat. 
> 
> Love ya'all!

Was this how Gosren felt? 

 

“Seven hundred  _ thousand?”  _

 

Smothered? Helpless?

 

“Yeah. And that’s just a starting price, apparently. Something offered to teenagers. It could be a lot more.” 

 

A hindrance. 

 

“I didn’t think someone so......”

 

Useless? 

 

“...could be so  _ valuable.”  _

 

“You underestimate the power of a lazy human with a lot of money. I’ve been sold to many a rich family, Sans, I know how their brains work.” 

 

Weak. You were weak. You were nothing but a glorified housemaid and a worry for Grillby. Grillby... You couldn’t do anything to help yourself except wield a frying pan and cower behind his flaming grandeur and righteous fury. 

 

“Huh, who’da thunk it? Didn’t think they’d have a  _ silk  _ road for  _ silkies.....  _ What’s your take on it, short stuff?” 

 

How  _ sickening,  _ to be protected instead of to protect; to rely on someone in the way you were meant to be relied on. It wasn’t right. You needed your powers back. You needed to feel your magic through your veins, the claws on your fingers, the coursing, throbbing, limitless potential to  _ kill! _

 

Defend. You mean defend. 

 

You shook your head back and forth, trying to dispel the creeping dark thoughts. Your chest ached. You just wanted to protect Grillby, not to be the one needing protection. You could take on humans; you’ve done it a million times before! 

 

“Short stuff.” 

 

_ So tie with him! It’s that easy, right?  _

 

Well, it  _ should  _ be that easy. You knew you loved him; it wasn’t hard to admit that. When you sat with him in the mornings, you felt calmer and happier than you had ever imagined possible. When you watched him do his work, you revelled in his skills, and hoped one day that he could share it with the world. When he told you of his dreams to be a warm home for any monster needing a loving drink and good company, your heart cried and pulled for the same thing. 

 

Yes. You loved him. 

 

_ So tying with him should be easy!  _

 

But it wasn’t. Maybe it was because the feelings, your  _ love;  _ it was different than with Gosren. It was more selfish in nature, and that scared you. You wanted him to succeed, but you wanted him to succeed  _ with  _ you. You wanted him to be happy, but you wanted him to be happy  _ with you. _

 

You didn’t like the idea of Grillby having a Gerson. No, you were selfish; you wanted Grillby to yourself. You wanted to not just see him dance in joy at his success, but you wanted him to come to  _ you,  _ to pick  _ you  _ up and swing you in circles, to hold you close and press his forehead to yours and spark in joy and whisper,  _ “we did it!”  _

 

You wanted him to lean forward; to tilt his head, to press that fissure of his mouth to your lips and-

 

“Oi! Polly the Polisher!” A hand tapped the side of your head, jerking you from your daydream. You jumped, swinging your head in the direction of the incessant skull-tapping, and paused at the skeleton’s smirking face in front of you. 

 

Right. Sans. 

 

“Huh?” You eloquently answered, receiving a raised eyebrow (?) in response. 

 

“How do you feel about this whole business?” He asked again, and you blinked a few times. How did you feel about it? Trapped? Useless? Confused. 

 

You settled on one emotion that bubbled to your chest when you noticed that the skeleton’s hand was still on your shoulder; patronizing. 

 

“Annoyed,” you answered, glaring at his skeletal hand. He let you go, coughing lightly, and giving a quick glare over your shoulder to Zait, who had snorted at your response. 

 

You were seated between the two, the skeleton critically acclaimed to be Sans on your left and Zait on your right, stuck between their banter like a child between two angry, doting parents. You wished Grillby would return so you could flee, but Zait had  _ insisted  _ the night before that you make friends with Sans. 

...

_ “He’s really funny, and Sans could be a really good ally,” Zait had said, “If things go down, I mean.”  _

 

_ “If things go down?” Grillby questioned; you noticed that some of the forlorn aspects of his voice had faded in lieu of curiosity. “Sans-”  _

 

_ “I swear to Zeus if you say Sans is weak i’m going to peel the labels off all of your alcohol.”  _

 

_ “But-” Grillby had tried again, but was quickly stopped by Zait’s raised hand and stern look.  _

 

_ “You’re wrong,” She interrupted. You remembered the impatient tapping of her hand on the counter, the thoughtful furrow in her brow. “No one can have a theme song with a 120 BPM tempo without reason.”  _

 

_ “Theme song?” You remember asking, scrunching your eyebrows together. The bar was empty, a timeless amount of time had passed between Zait’s outburst in Grillby’s direction, and the three of you were awkwardly discussing your future safety. Or more, you were helplessly listening to Zait dictate your future actions, and silently begging for Grillby to save you; he wouldn’t look you in the eyes.  _

 

_ “No, just the tempo.” Zait had corrected dismissively, “I can only hear the tempo. It’s infuriating.”  _

 

_ “Tempo?” Grillby mirrored your confusion, but was also waved off.  _

 

_ “It’s not important. People have tempos, kay? Yours is breakneck, Sans is fast, Iris’s is slow. Simple. Either way, Sans is strong. Having the two of you as friends would be advantageous to your safety.” She pointedly turned to you, nodding in affirmation.  _

 

_ “O-okay?” You had stuttered, grimacing. Zait seemed satisfied enough, and moved on... _

  
  


“I don’t think i’ve ever seen you so  _ salty!”  _ Zait chuckled, crooning, “Don’t like being touched by someone other than Grillby?” Your eyes shot toward her; you were sure you’d be blushing if you were in a better mood, but right now you just felt pitiful and filled with rage at the same time. One quick glare and she fell silent, raising her hands in defense. You took a small breath in, and released it in a tired huff. 

 

When was Grillby coming back? You hated this. Sure, you agreed with them last night that being alone right now probably wasn’t the safest plan of action, but if you had known that it meant when Grillby left for an errand, you would have to sit in a crowded bar, stuck between a skeleton who believed snark and puns were his native language, and the  _ queen  _ of intuitive sassiness, you would have argued much more diligently against it. 

 

You  _ hated  _ this. 

 

Well, you didn’t  _ hate  _ it, perse, but you  _ were  _ very tired of sitting in a crowded bar, being talked over by two comedians who were  _ obviously  _ pining for each other, and ogled by the rest of the patrons who were simply baffled by your existence. Being able to listen to conversation was nice; up until this point, you had spoken regularly with two people, Zait and Grillby. So being able to listen to others casually converse was a nice change; you just wished their conversation would stop returning to the subject of  _ you. _

 

“Who is she?” 

 

You’re sure they mean well, and you understand their position entirely. Your presence is probably just as off-putting as Zait’s: You look more human than you do Monster, and your magic is  _ so  _ much different from theirs. Sure, Zait’s is as well, but it’s maintained and contained within that infernal magic box. Yours, however, is weak, different, and ingrained in the very  _ wood  _ of this building. If they didn’t understand the tether, you were sure they could at  _ least  _ sense some sort of magical difference between you and everyone else. 

 

“Is she human? Is Grillby going to kick her out like he did the human yesterday?” 

 

“No, she  _ belongs  _ here... I can just  _ feel  _ it!” 

 

You groaned, dropping your head into your arms, hiding your face and wishing everyone would just  _ go away.  _ Zait and Sans, who had forgotten about your existence for a moment, turned to you again. Zait, and her annoyingly on-point intuition, seemed to realize your frustration, and dropped her head in her hand, looking sympathetically at you. 

 

“You know this is necessa-” 

 

“I  _ know.”  _ You interrupted with a huff, voice clipped. Zait paused for a moment, looking over at Sans, who only shrugged. 

 

“Then what’s got your panties in a bunch?” She questioned; your head lolled to the side to look at her, and you frowned. 

 

“They won’t stop  _ talking!”  _ You complained with a half-assed wave in the restaurant's general direction. Zait’s eyes trailed across the bar, and she noticed how heads and eyes turned guiltily away from her as if they were eavesdropping. 

 

“Oh,” Zait mumbled, eliciting another groan from you. The door jingled, letting in a quick whiff of cold air. 

 

All this,” You groaned, “Because of  _ one  _ human!” 

 

“Two,” Sans corrected, voice gaining a dangerous clip to it. Picking up on it immediately, you and Zait turned your heads, both blanching at the human female standing in front of the door, smile overflowing with confidence and eyes wrinkled with greed. 

 

You have killed her kind before; ruthlessly torn that cocky smile from their face without a second thought. And now here stood a soldier’s reincarnate, glimmering eyes, glinting teeth and all, and you could see she had a “flawless plan.” A flawless plan you were sure you were about to be subjected to. 

 

When was Grillby coming back? 

 

The woman’s eyes flittered across the room until they caught on the tether floating in the air. You watched as her eyes followed the grey string up, and up, and up. Her eyes fell on your chest, and then flickered to your face; the way her smile expanded and curled had your stomach churning by the time she began her waltz toward you. 

 

“I guess my sources were correct,” she said, voice sweeter than honey soaked gold and already you were overdosing. She sauntered across the floor, completely unfazed by the unabashed stares from the monsters as she muscled herself between you and Sans  _ (“hey!”),  _ leaning against the counter and paying you full attention. “I nearly didn’t come, believing that someone as  _ rare  _ and  _ beautiful  _ as  _ you  _ could actually exist in an  _ infested  _ hole such as this,” she crooned. 

 

You hated her. 

 

“But, lo and behold, here you are!” She exclaimed, waving a hand at your entirety, eyes worshiping and awed and lying at the same time. She leaned forward, interested in you. “I just  _ had  _ to see if it was true,” she licked her lips, sultry. Her eyes were a golden brown, deeper than the darkest jewels; her lips were full, red, puckered and weaving silk words to be fed to your ears. 

 

You... hated her. 

 

“Now tell me, dear,” her smile softened, the luscious red lips relaxing for something more... motherly. Long lashes blinked slowly as she sat back a bit, earning a startled yelp from Sans as she nearly sat on his lap; he jumped out of the way just in time, face flickering with rage for nearly a millisecond before he wiped it clean, glancing at Zait. “Why are you subjecting yourself to a place so...” She paused, blinking again, and you realized you had been pulled into her game, listening to her spin her words and giving her your full attention. “...So  _ small  _ in comparison to your skills?” 

 

You knew what she was trying to do: sew seeds of discontent. You knew she probably has succeeded in the past, but here? No, this was a  _ whole  _ new ballgame. A ballgame where she knew nothing but your species, and had to assume the rest. 

 

And her assumptions were  _ obviously  _ incorrect. 

 

_ She’s not worth my time.  _

 

You agreed, but under her golden gaze you faltered, stuttering, “I’m h-happy here.” 

 

Her eyes widened, and her lips pulled downward for a moment, but she quickly fixed it. You could hear the soft click of her eyelashes meeting each other when she blinked, and you realized how dead quiet it was. 

 

The bell jingled once more, but none paid it heed. Sans had found himself a seat one to the left of the woman, watching carefully, silently. Zait, pinching her lips closed to your right, noticed the flicker of blue in Sans’ eye, and shot him a look. A panicked,  _ we can’t make a scene,  _ look that pulled him out of his patient smiling rage, and made that eternal smile flicker.  _ Just wait it out,  _ Zait silently begged,  _ she can handle herself!  _

 

“But, you could be so much happier  _ somewhere else!”  _ The woman emphasized, inching closer to you; you inched back, battling between the need to up and flee, and up and tear her throat out. It was an even match right now. “Honey, I could make you a  _ queen  _ if you gave me the chance. Mansions  _ filled  _ with corners to clean and people to host, if only you’d come with me.” 

 

You paused, eyes scrunching. Did this woman not know how Silkies worked? Did she not understand that you couldn’t leave this place as long as you were tied to the ground? Did she come in here with all confidence and no knowledge to back it up? You huffed one quick laugh, and watched her confident facade twist into confusion. You felt a small surge of confidence overcome you, and you raised an eyebrow. 

 

Was this your life now? 

 

“Even if I could,” you started, letting a smile grace your lips, “I wouldn’t leave this place if you sounded like you  _ actually  _ knew what you were talking about, and offered me something I might actually be  _ interested  _ in! No, i’d prefer this place over  _ whatever  _ you offered  _ any  _ day!” 

 

The woman recoiled, face twisting in anger, lips turning downward. “Why!” She exclaimed, and suddenly her face wasn’t so beautiful anymore. Those deep brown eyes looked more like over-wet mud, and those lips were probably stung by a bee. Probably. She curled her lips backward and leaned into your personal space; you could feel something stir in your chest at her proximity, not quite welcome but  _ oh so  _ familiar. 

 

You could feel your lips curl back, and something distant, unattainable, some part of you that had forgotten itself twitched in your heart. Something wished to escape, to rip forward, to stoop to her level and whisper smooth, elegant insults into her ears until she shivered uncontrollably and fled, never to return but to provide you more satisfaction of  _ destroying her. _

 

But you had inhibitions. 

 

Or rather, you had a voice that grounded you, reminded you of who you were, and settled the darkness ripping at your chest. 

 

“She’s not interested,” the voice spoke, and almost immediately the dark anger fled, leaving you to look up at the flickering rage that stood between you and the woman. Which was probably a good thing, since the look the woman was giving you was already tainted with terror. 

 

“Uhh,” the woman stuttered, eyes flickering to Grillby. She jumped, and looked between you and Grillby, seemingly torn on who to be more afraid of. Zait and Sans took this as their cue or invitation to pitch in. 

 

“Yeah, she ain’t  _ interested,  _ bub.” Zait smirked, leaning across from you to give the woman a snarky grin. The woman was too busy looking at Grillby to notice. 

 

“You’d be a  _ monster  _ to keep trying to convince her, to be honest.” Sans pitched in lazily, “and you wouldn’t want  _ that.”  _

 

“Uhh,” the woman said again, eyes wide. 

 

“You can leave now,” Zait added, and the woman seemed to blink out of her stupor, and numbly nod. She stood, glancing at you again and swallowing before picking up her shattered pride and walking out with whatever dignity she had left, shaking the entire way. 

 

When the door shut behind her, the silence of the bar shattered; voices picked up almost immediately, some boisterous, some hushed, and you realized that maybe the noise wasn’t as bad as you thought. 

 

________________

________________

“She just left, sir.” 

 

“And how does she look?” 

 

“Shaken, to say the least.” 

 

“...Catch her. Question her... Ask her to coffee.” 

 

“Yes, sir.” 

 

________________

________________

 

Grillby had left the bar for 20 minutes; he had run out of tonic, and Zait saw it as the perfect moment to prove that she and Sans could watch over you while he was gone. So, despite his complaints, he was pushed out the door with a wave and a smile, worrying for you the entire way to the grocery store and back. Would you be okay? Would a human show up while he was gone? Would Sans really be able to handle it? 

 

His pace quickened on the way home, remembering Zait’s conversation before. 

 

He had asked her why she couldn’t just protect you while he was gone. She was a god, right? Shouldn’t she be ridiculously strong. 

 

She had scoffed, rolling her eyes.  _ “I’m a music god, not Ares!”  _ He remembered her retorting,  _ “what do you think i’m going to do, play bad music till their eardrums pop?”  _

 

No, Zait had a point. Protecting you... that was  _ his  _ job. So when he saw, quite a distance away, a figure he did not recognize enter his bar, he had to stop himself from dropping his bags of tonic water and sprinting to the door. 

 

No, he just ran instead. By the time he entered the front door, the woman was seated where Sans was before, leaning toward you and crooning words he knew were sweet lies before he could even hear them. 

 

What worried him, though, was the black twisting darkness visible even through the front of your blouse. Was your magic waning because you were distressed? Was the darkness plaguing your heart gaining a footing because this woman.... 

 

He marched forward, flames trailing behind him like a cape of anger, wisping through the air before fading away. He had control over his magic, but he felt it was okay to let a little go, if just to scare this woman. As he marched closer, he could hear your words. 

 

“...No, i’d prefer this place over  _ whatever  _ you offered  _ any  _ day!” Your voice was louder than it normally was, and it did something special to how his heart pounded; he couldn’t stop himself from flickering proudly for a moment. The woman sneered, glaring at you with venom in her eyes, and Grillby found this moment to be a good time to intervene. 

 

The darkness around your heart was expanding still, so you were obviously still upset, and he refused to let it continue any longer. 

 

...

 

Bygones were bygones, and the woman left in quite a hurry, leaving you, darkness contained once more, staring up at him with a soft relieves smile, and him barely containing his urge to lift you by your waist and scurry you upstairs to be coddled and hugged until relieved smiles were no longer necessary. 

 

Instead, he lifted his bags and placed them on the counter, resting one hand on your head for a moment before finding his way around the counter and unpacking his groceries. Zait stood as well, coughing awkwardly and retreating to her jukebox, sitting on top of it, Sans watching her all the way. An odd silence befell the group as Grillby placed the water in it’s place, and then began straightening everything, just as something to do with his hands. 

 

After a while, Grillby flickered a bit and faced you. “Are you okay?” He asked, drawing you from your daydreaming stupor to look up at him. You blinked a few times, and then gave him a quick nod that set his heart at ease. “Good,” he said, turning back to the glass in his hand. 

 

“So,” Zait said slowly, voice irritated. “Is this it then? Do we just live with these tense situations, and then pretend that they didn’t happen?” 

 

“What  _ else  _ can we do?” You asked, voice defeated. Grillby placed a glass in front of you; the contents were a soft yellow. 

 

“Something!” Zait almost shouted, hands splaying for a moment before clenching into a fist. She calmed herself a bit, and let out a small sigh, “this isn’t helping smooth over human-monster relations  _ or  _ making your life easier. This is just silently suffering.” 

 

“It’s only happened twice,” Grillby added, pouring a second glass and looking over at Zait. He slid the glass in Sans’ direction. He agreed with her, but it really  _ had  _ only happened twice. It will happen a lot more times, and if they were to get upset over just the second time, Grillby wasn’t sure how long you would last. That darkness.... He watched you lift the glass to your lips and take a tentative sip. Your face scrunched a bit, and you blew your air out quickly, your head involuntarily shaking back and forth a few times. You coughed once, twice, and then looked at the glass, intrigued and perturbed. 

 

Limoncello. Grillby had prepared it almost a week ago, and had it marinating since then. It was only now that he decided it was ready. This batch had a pretty high alcohol content, but with how you were sipping at it, you would be fine. 

 

“And it’ll happen again, and again, and again!” Zait countered. “We have to think of a different way to handle it, a way that  _ actually  _ helps!” 

 

Grillby felt a bit of anger spike, and he turned on Zait, “And what do you suggest?” He asked, voice a bit more venomous than he’d like. You lifted the glass to your lips a second time, a bit more warily this time.

 

“Fuck! I don’t know! Tie with her!” Zait practically yelled, pulling the attention from the surrounding tables. Or maybe it was the sputtering cough coming from your direction. Grillby shot his eyes toward you, and flared at your red, coughing face. You slammed the glass onto the table, bending over and trying to gasp for air. He reached a hand out, quickly placing it on your shoulder, but you waved him off, recovering rather quickly, face still bright red. Grillby shot an angry look in Zait’s direction, but she didn’t back down. 

 

“You know it’s the right thing to do, you’ve just been avoiding it!” She accused, pursing her lips and glaring at him. 

 

“Zait...” Grillby warned, but was cut off. 

 

“I’m just pointing out the elephant in the room! You kno-” 

 

“Excuse me!” You interrupted, grabbing the drink in front of you, and in an attempt to not be impolite, downed the whole thing, slamming the glass on the table with a, “Delicious!” And then you were up and gone, fleeing into the kitchen faster than Zait could retract her statement. 

 

The silence that followed the clack of the kitchen door shutting was deafening. Finally, Grillby’s attention went fully to Zait, and shot after shot of fire flew toward her face. 

 

“Hey hey hey hey!” Zait complained, holding her hands up in defense at the barrage of bullets. “I’m sorry, i’m sorry!” 

 

Grillby let out an angry huff, turning away from Zait and following after you. Zait watched him leave, frowning, until she heard Sans’s soft chuckle. 

 

“What?” She asked with a frown, only receiving another chuckle as Sans shook his head.

 

...

 

“What?” 

 

Sans opened his mouth, turning to Zait with a raised brow, only to be interrupted by a soft jingle, and then the slam of the front door hitting the wall beside it. Sans turned nearly at the same time as Zait, and they both froze, eyes wide as the second human of the day ran into the restaurant, face pale as they stumbled across the floor to the bar, crashing into the counter and knocking over a chair in their haste. The door only now shut behind them, and the human’s eyes, panicked, shot around the bar, looking for something. 

 

“Uhh,” Sans started, jumping when the human in response turned on him and grabbed both his shoulders. His neck prickled and his eye flickered blue, ready to slam the human across the bar when they finally spoke. 

 

“Please!” They started, and he noticed how shaky their fingers were as they gripped his arms. “Please! The Muse! Where is the Muse!” 

 

Sans had to physically stop himself from looking to Zait; instead, his eyes flicked dangerously, and his smile widened. “Woah, hey, slow down there bub,” He started, looking the human up and down. They looked frazzled, sweaty, pale and bright at the same time. “What business do you have with our resid-” 

 

“No time! Please! It’s really important!” 

 

“Now hold on!” Sans started again, patience running thin at the rudeness of the human, “I’m not going to tell you anything until I know if you’re a threat or no-” 

 

“ARGHHH!” The human screeched, dipping into their pocket frantically. Sans recoiled, eyes glowing, hand reaching out defensively as the human pulled something out. He only paused when the human didn’t move toward him, but rather slammed the object onto the table, and then made eye contact with Sans. Their eyes burned with a passion that nearly floored the skeleton as they spoke quick and low, “I’ll be back on a later day! Make sure the Muse gets this!” They spat, and then turned heel, sprinting across the restaurant and out the door, leaving everyone reeling as the door clicked shut behind them. 

 

If Sans listened hard enough, he could hear distant shouting, but it faded just as quick as he heard it. He stared at the door for a while longer before letting his gaze trail to the object left on the counter. 

 

A tuning fork. Sans stared at it for a moment, and then glanced at Zait, who was staring at it like it were an alien. Upon sensing his gaze, she looked at him, blinking. 

 

“So that’s-” 

 

“You’re not touching this till I know if it’s dangerous or not,” Sans interrupted her, grabbing the fork and slipping it in his pocket before the woman in front of him could protest. 

 

And yet, she still did. 

 

“But it’s for me! You don’t get to just  _ take  _ something meant for me!” 

 

“I can if a sketchy human comes running in and dropping it off like it were a stolen famous piece of art,” Sans interjected, bringing a pout from Zait. 

 

“They weren’t sketchy,” Zait defended, “I heard their tempo! They’re fine!” 

 

“I have no idea what that means, but I’m not trusting whatever that is. This thing’s coming with me, and I’m going to test it before I let you touch it.” 

 

“Come on!” 

 

“What if it tears you apart?” 

 

“I’m  _ already  _ torn apart!” 

 

“I don’t know what that means either, but i’m talking about physically!” 

 

“One one-hundredth, remember?” Zait motioned to herself, “I am literally  _ torn apart.  _ I think I can handle a tuning fork.” 

 

“It’s better safe than sorry.” Sans remained stubborn, sidestepping when Zait gave up on words and instead attempted to bum-rush him. She huffed. 

 

“Oh come on!” She complained, swiping at his pocket again, only to miss when he juked to the right. “It’s for me anyway!” 

 

“Don’t care,” Sans chuckled at her impatience, and pulled the tuning fork out of his pocket, showing it to her for barely a millisecond before teleporting it to his bedroom; she watched it disappear in front of her eyes, and frowned. 

 

“Where is it.”

 

“My house. You’ll get it when I deem it safe.” 

 

“Oh my gods you’re not my father!” 

 

“No, but I am a  _ friend  _ who's worried.” Sans said, and felt his heart jump when Zait paused at his words, looking at him fondly at the word ‘friend.’ She seemed to calm after that, finally letting her feet touch the ground, then her butt touch a chair. Sans followed suit, and they were both seated again. 

 

“Friend after one day, huh?” 

 

“Two.” Sans corrected, “I met you yesterday.” 

 

“Yeah, but today’s not over, so it’s only one day.” 

 

“Well what can I say? Monsters make friends easily.” Sans shrugged, “Besides, once I caught you in my  _ Zait,  _ I knew I couldn’t let you go.” 

 

“We could do this relationship  _ Sans  _ puns of my name, please.” 

 

“You a _ muse  _ me.” 

 

“Sans.” 

 

“You put the music in my life.” 

 

“Oh my gods, are you moving to pick up lines?” 

 

“Are you a god? Because you’re  _ my  _ muse.” 

 

“Sans!” Zait whined, pushing Sans a bit; Sans laughed, falling quiet for a moment, looking up at the ceiling. 

 

“You’re pretty today, too,” He said, the lights in his eyes looking over at her, “black hair suits you just as much as blond does.” He could see  Zait flush, and smiled proudly as she looked away for a moment. “It’s the  _ eyes  _ that get me though. Don’t know why you call the  _ silky  _ Iris, when it should really be  _ you _ with that name.” Oh he was on fire right now. 

 

“Her eyes are grey, and she’s always staring at things,” Zait answered, making Sans deflate a bit. He didn’t want a reason why.. Ah fuck it. “It just kinda popped in my mind. Doesn’t quite fit though, maybe I’ll try something else.” 

 

“Why don’t you just call her by her real name?” Sans asked with a chuckle, not expecting the silence that followed. 

 

“She... never told me.” Zait sounded just as shocked as Sans was at the tid-bit of information. “I mean, I guess it makes sense, since she’s... y’know.” 

 

“Uhh. No? I don’t know.” 

 

“Oh.” Zait deflated for a moment, “I guess i just  _ read  _ into the situation too far. Kinda dumb, since i’m not the  _ reader.”  _

 

“I-... I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

 

“Never mind,” Zait pulled away from her surmising, and smiled at Sans. “How’s your brother?” 

 

“He’s good,” Sans said, also deflating a bit. Right. Zait liked his brother. “If you want, I can bring him back here some time.” 

 

“Nah,” Zait said thoughtfully, “I’d rather he come on his own time.” 

 

“You... you don’t want to see him?” 

 

“Not enough to get you to bring him here, no.” She laughed, looking over at him with a raised eyebrow, “What, are you jealous?” 

 

Sans sputtered, “Jealous? Come  _ on.”  _

 

“Don’t play dumb, Sans. No one dishes out two compliments in 5 minutes unless they’re vying for a date.” She smirked at him, leaning on the counter. 

  
“Well,” Sans paused for a moment, feeling a bit of blue paint his cheeks, and then shrugged. “You caught me. Wanna go on a date some time? I know this  _ fiery  _ bar not far from here.” He joked, “I hear the bartender is really hot.” 

 

Zait let out a small laugh, but it’s emptiness told Sans her answer before she voiced it. The laugh didn’t sound  _ fake,  _ perse, but it  _ did  _ sound hollow, defeated. She hesitated for a moment, and Sans could see her eyebrows scrunch up and a wry smile flicker over her features for a moment. 

 

“I’d love to, I really would,” she started, but Sans could already guess what was coming next, “...But i can’t.” 

 

It was  _ how  _ she answered his request that prompted his next question.  

 

“Why not?” He asked, voice laced with confusion. He wasn’t hurting too much, he had only known this woman for a day or two; not getting to date her wouldn’t be the death of him, and he didn’t have much staked in it just yet. But  _ how  _ she answered made him feel like he still had a chance, like it wasn’t her turning him down because she didn’t  _ like  _ him, but for some other reason. 

 

“I...” Zait started, and then paused, taking in a deep breath, “I’m not going to...” She paused again, wrestling with her words as if she weren’t sure if she should say them or not. Finally, she huffed, and closed her eyes, “I’m not going to start something that will inevitably end in pain.” 

 

Well, that was probably the last thing Sans expected. 

 

“Well that’s really pessimistic.”

 

“It’s true, though,” Zait continued, “One of these days, i’ll find a way to get away from this jukebox, and then i’ll start connecting with my other pieces again. And-” She stopped, looking at her twiddling thumbs for a moment. “And my and their memories will join, I think... And what if we  _ both  _ have a significant other? Who's to say my experiences are more important than theirs?” 

 

“...Oh. I think I get it.” 

 

“Dating me, whether we go for a short period or the long run... it’s doomed to end in pain.” 

________________

________________

You probably shouldn’t have downed the drink before you left, but you had never left one of Grillby’s drinks unfinished. So now, tucked away in your little hiding spot with all your belongings on the inside of the couch, you felt your head haze over and your face get hot. 

 

Ah. 

 

That would make it harder to keep yourself calm. 

 

 _It’s simple. You want to! It would solve_ _everything!_ _No one would have to worry about you; you could take care of yourself! Why are you so hesitant to tie with him?_

 

Images of Gosren flitted through your mind, her dust trailing between your fingers. The hollow feeling that settled in your chest and never left. The dark place you went to all in the name of your host. How that darkness completely disappeared at Gosren’s death, leaving nothing behind but an empty shell and pain. 

 

Then images of Grillby. Of his smile, of his fiery eyes, of his hand on your shoulder or wrapped around your waist. His calming voice and his crackling ambiance and his soft words and just as suddenly there was a burning man, screaming in front of you, dying because you couldn’t provide him with the love he wanted... You choked, ears ringing. 

 

The fourth step’s squeak was warning enough that Grillby had followed you; you held your breath. His footsteps were loud; louder than normal, probably to make it known that he was headed in your direction. You could see the glowing of his feet when he stopped in front of the couch, and you heard the shuffle of his suit as he knelt down. 

 

“Are you okay?” He asked, voice rumbling, quieter than normal, hesitant, and you sputtered out a laugh. Were you okay? You didn’t flee because what Zait said made you bashful; no, that would have been childish. You fled because.... 

 

You fled because... 

 

You paused. Why did you flee?  _ Was _ it bashfulness? Was it fear? Were you afraid of his rejection?

 

Grillby’s warm face appeared in your mind's eye; his soft, concerned expression sated your worried heart, and you concluded that no, you were not afraid of his reaction. In fact, you were sure that if you suggested it, he would probably agree; it wouldn’t harm him in any way other than having you around, and if you two had fights, you could easily make yourself scarce. 

 

Were you... Were you afraid that your love for him was not returned on his side? 

 

...No. You didn’t care if he loved you or not. 

 

... That was a lie. You  _ did  _ care, but not enough for you to flee from the suggestion of a tie, or to hold yourself back from asking him to tie with you. 

 

So what  _ was  _ holding you back? 

 

“You don’t have to tie with me,” Grillby’s voice interrupted your mind’s rambling, and you immediately noticed the hurt tone to it. 

 

Oh  _ god!  _ Did he think you were so disgusted by the thought that you  _ fled  _ from the scene? 

 

“No!” You almost shouted, and scrambled from the scaffolding of the inside of the couch, popping your head out from underneath, the rest of your body quickly following till Grillby had to jump out of the way of your retreat from the couch. You rolled and sat up, looking him straight in the eyes. “It’s not that I don’t  _ want  _ to tie with you!” You started, and then paused when Grillby’s flames nearly doubled in size, eyes wide. You scrambled for your words, trying to save yourself from embarrassment. “No wait! I don’t mean- I- Uhh. I just! I mean I  _ love  _ you!” His flames spiked again, and you could feel your face impossibly heat up more. “I mean! No wait! I’m trying to say that the emotional bond necessary for a tie is probably here, so I don’t  _ hate  _ you, I just- I got  _ scared  _ and, I wasn’t running away because I hate you I was just-” 

 

“Pff!” Grillby’s mouth appeared and split open as he let out a hearty laugh; you recoiled, eyes wide at his reaction. It was only when you thought back to your previous sentences that you realized not only that you were rambling, but that your foot was so far lodged in your mouth that it was probably tickling your stomach. 

 

You wanted to blame it all on the alcohol you drank a while ago, but in all honesty, not enough time had passed to use that as an excuse. Nope, this was aaaall you. 

 

You opened your mouth to try and save yourself, but were quickly interrupted by a hand on your cheek and eyes staring into yours. You let the words die on your lips. 

 

“I understand,” Grillby said, voice rumbling and quiet. Your heart, which you didn’t realize was fluttering to no end, calmed down at his touch. Your lips parted, and your heart pulled; you wanted to kiss him. 

 

“I-” you started, but you had forgotten to breath. 

 

“We don’t have to tie,” Grillby said, “I know it means a lot.” 

 

“But-” 

 

“You not wanting to tie right now doesn’t mean you love me any less,” Grillby provided for you, and you mutely nodded, throat clogged.

 

“I do love you.” You whispered, the frantic aspect of your voice fading away in lieu of peace and soft, calm emotion. 

 

Grillby’s flames flickered erratically for a moment as he watched the softness of your eyes and the flush of your face. 

 

He wanted to kiss you. 

 

And he was pretty sure you wouldn’t object to him kissing you. He was  _ pretty  _ sure you felt the same way he did, pretty sure you felt the same pulling in your heart and the desire to just  _ be close.  _ He was sure that if he leaned forward right now and pressed his mouth to yours, you would melt under his fiery grasp, and then hold him closer, kissing back as he cradled you in his arms. 

 

But then he remembered the Limoncello. 

 

The glass he gave you had at least 3 if not 4 shots of Vodka in it, and you had chugged the entire thing in one gulp. 

 

He resigned himself, leaning forward and pressing his mouth to your forehead for a moment. 

 

“I love you too,” he said, pulling you into a proper hug. He felt your arms wrap around his waist, and rested his chin on the top of your head. “I love you too.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dies of lack of sleep* 
> 
> I re-wrote this like, 8 times. 
> 
> Also. I know ya'all are pissed rn, but don't forget the tuning fork!


	14. Lots of Shit goes down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet a bunch of disposable characters not important to the plot, and one...not... 
> 
> Also, you're welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY so a few recognitions are in order. 
> 
> First order: Thanks to my beta reader, Its-a-snowdecahedron, my bread and butter. They leave comments all over my google-doc that keep me determined as I write! They keep me happy, and keep me going! *holds out bouqet of flowers* 
> 
> NEXT ORDER OF BUSINESS  
> Did someone say Silky/Grillby story where the Silky and Grillby exchange letters during wartime written by a different person? 
> 
> YEs. Someone did.  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/6612655/chapters/15130357  
> Silverstarsy. It's actually really good writing. I have to say that it's not canon to the story, but it IS an interesting, really sweet read! You'll love it! 
> 
> Speaking of SilverStarsy....  
> http://silverstarsy.tumblr.com/post/143084095014/eeeee-okay-so-i-found-a-fic-thats-actually
> 
> ART MOTHERFUCKER
> 
> uhh....
> 
> Apologies for slow update, school is killing me. I'm dead. so dead. Dead and sad and dead. 
> 
> mostly dead.

Targets: Three. 

 

Locations: Scattered about the dance floor. Red to the Northeast, contained in the fire sprawled along the wall. Green to the Southwest, hanging from the vines sprouting from the ceiling. Blue to the Northwest, eternally flowing from the waterfall. All beautiful, all dancing, all enslaved. 

 

They know you’re coming.

 

Extraction team: Blackbirds.

 

Raven and Sparrow: Red. Chosen for swiftness and stealth. 

Grackle: Blue. Size and maneuverability creates easier access to waterfall at front of stage. 

Crow: Green. Cold persona dissuades attraction.

“I think I should take offense to that.” 

 

“You know it’s true, Crow.” 

 

“Mmm...” 

 

“Ladies. Please.” 

 

Four faces paid attention, once again, to the old, flickering computer. “Make it quick, make it simple, don’t make a scene. Understood?” 

 

A plethora of nods. 

 

“Good. If I don’t get a ping by one, I’m pulling you out.” 

 

Nods again. The group, four younger adults, dressed to the nines, hovered over the dilapidated computer screen. The face looked at each adult, one by one, before giving a curt nod. 

 

The screen went black, and they knew they were on the clock. 

 

Car doors opened, high heels clacked, shirts were pulled down low, cleavage was bore. Hips swayed, side to side, as the women sauntered toward the strobing lights and pounding music. Above the door shone the logo; three straight lines and one shorter one, all glowing bright neon blue. 

 

Four beautiful women walked forward, all with jet black hair, all with a mission.

 

It was easy to get past the mass of muscle standing in front of the cold glass doors. A brushing finger to his shoulder, a flirtatious smile, a wink, and they were allowed into the throng. 

 

They split up immediately. Time was not on their side. 

 

Two headed to the left wall; neither were too tall, or too short, but both shimmered with the beauty of smooth skin under multi-colored lights. Heads turned toward, but just as quickly turned away, dissuaded by two smooth hands entwined together. The women swayed as they walked, arm in arm, bobbing their heads and licking their lips, ostensibly lost in each other’s seas of skin, growing ever closer to the flickering flames licking the Northeast wall. The shorter of the two, a bronze skinned beauty, shifted her chest, sneakily withdrawing a small glass box from the darkness of her cleavage. Unlike the darkness, it shimmered and flicked, a small lantern that previously tortured her with heat in her bosom, but now happily shimmered in the open, shielded from sight by her careful hands. 

  
She turned her head, eyes carefully scanning the crowd they so effortlessly avoided for the shortest of her companions. A quick flash of sapphire blue sated her worry; a small body across  the dancefloor, barely seen among the undulating forms of the frantic dancers. The Grackle wove between vibrating bodies easily, shifting and twisting, dancing her way across the dancefloor, headed straight for the waterfall. The necklace around her neck shimmered, water sloshing inside. 

 

She acknowledged Crow’s loud, raspy voice from across the dancefloor. 

 

“Fuck off!” She yelled at a specially handsy man, towering over him with dark eyes and a smoke-riddled voice. He backed off quickly, leaving the tall woman to return to her musings, looking up at the vines hovering over her head, right in reach of her knife... once she was ready. Her eyes trailed to the watch on her wrist. 12:40. They were running out of time. 

 

She dipped her hand below the hem of her dress, but paused, glaring angrily at a hand coldly gripping her shoulder. Her head whipped toward the incriminating appendage; her breath caught in her throat. 

 

“Elementals are horrible liars,  _ bird.”  _

______________

______________

 

When you drop something, and it shatters on the ground, it always takes a few moments for your brain to comprehend the event. You stand there, hands empty and eyes wide, waiting for your reaction to catch up with the crashing sound. 

 

Sometimes, it takes milliseconds, and you’re yelling or dropping to the ground to grab the shattered pieces, mourning already at the loss of  _ whatever it was.  _ Sometimes, it takes longer, and you’re standing there, vacant, pieces of glass tickling your feet as they falls to a stop. Then you look down at the light-refracting floor, and purse your lips. Your eyebrows pull together, you let a breath out. The tingle starts at the back of your throat, you maybe let out a small, “oh.” It’s only when you bend down, when your fingers touch the first shard of glass that you realize you had even dropped something. 

Your confession dropped like that. 

 

The first morning after your fingers let go of your emotions, you were seated on the couch, waiting for Grillby to finish getting ready so you could fly downstairs and begin cleaning when you looked down. Grillby’s light refracted across the walls and danced along the ground as he skittered about the room, pulling his tie on and looking for his apron. You just sat there, lips pursed, mind processing. 

 

You were downstairs, an hour before the bar was scheduled to open, listening to Zait rave about some mysterious skulls when your eyebrows pulled together, and the knot in in your throat appeared. 

 

Thirty minutes to opening, Grillby placed a drink in front of you; a deep, rich orange that melded with the color of his fingers. 

 

“Orange Cider,” Grillby explained, sliding it closer toward you. You blinked away the tingling in the back of your neck, and reached out to grab it, hand brushing his.

 

Your fingers touched that first shard of glass, and you realized you what you dropped. 

 

Your face exploded into color, and it took all your self control to not pull away as if burnt by his flaming fingers. You coughed, shifted your fingers away from his, and looked away, swallowing the knot. His fingers chased your fleeing hand, lightly resting on your wrist. You heard the soft crackle of his voice.

 

“Are you alright?” He beseeched, squeezing your wrist a bit. It sent fire through your veins.  You couldn’t answer with more than stuttering and a shaky nod. 

 

“Oh good Lords, you’re priceless,” Zait breathed from your left, only making your face darken impossibly more. The smile that curled onto her face did not bode well; she turned toward Grillby. “What happened?” she crooned, and then stopped for a moment, eyes wide and excited. “No wait don’t tell me. Let me guess!” She laughed, clapping her hands together, jutting her chin out and looking at the ceiling, melodramatically shouting, “In the HEAT of the moment, nerves  _ pounding  _ in your head and alcohol  _ coursing  _ through your lightweight veins, you  _ threw  _ yourself into your flaming companion’s arms and declared your  _ undying  _ love and devotion to him!” 

 

“Zait,” Grillby warned, hand tightening on your wrist. Your ears were glowing. 

 

“No wait, I’m not done.” She blurted, then continued, throwing the back of her palm to her forehead, “But alas! Your undying love cannot evolve into a relationship because of alcohol, nerves, and intrusive thoughts that are  _ obviously  _ foreshadowing, and the whole situation turns into a  _ royal cocktease!”  _

 

“Zait!” Grillby flared; you could see the harmless flames lick up your arm for a moment. It was beautiful. You swallowed, trying to calm down if even a little. It wasn’t working. 

 

“Well? Am I wrong?” Zait leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter and looking over at you. You didn’t answer; Zait’s smile twisted upward mischievously, and her eyes flicked over to Grillby, whose flames had gained a faint blue hue. “Do you feel cock-teased, Grillby?” 

 

“This conversation is over.” 

 

“Yeah... I figured you’d say that....” 

____________

____________

 

Fingers impatiently tapped on fake wood, one dull thud, and then three clacks of perfectly manicured tips. 

 

Ratta-tat-tat! Ratta-tat-tat! 

 

The woman swallowed, hands shakily holding the cheap Starbucks cup in front of her, untouched and already growing cold. 

 

Ratta-tat-tat! Ratta-tat-tat! 

 

“....Th-that’s everything... H-he’s d-dangerous...” The woman said, voice stuttering. She bit her lip, red lipstick almost all sucked away in nerves. The clicking of fingers grated against her head like nails pounding into a coffin. 

 

Ratta-tat-tat! Ratta-tat-tat! 

 

“P-please,” She swallowed, chin raised just enough to stop the tears from falling down her face. Her voice was raw, shuddering, fearful. “I t-told you everything about them. I don’t know anything else. I was just following the money. I don’t know anything...” 

 

The clacking stopped, hand falling still. The woman stared at it, thanking the  _ heavens  _ that it stopped. It raised from the table, swishing through the air once, twice, beckoning her to leave; three perfectly manicured fingers, and half a pinky. 

 

“I’m... I’m free to go?” 

 

Wave. Wave. 

 

The woman nearly burst into tears, clattering from the chair, still clutching the untouched drink in her hand. She opened her mouth in thanks, but was silenced by a third wave. She turned, and left immediately, not looking up from the ground as she rushed across the parking lot outside the dilapidated starbucks, heels clacking against the black asphalt. 

 

She dropped her keys twice before getting the cold metal into the door. A twist, and she was throwing herself into the driver’s seat. The door slammed behind her, and she grabbed the wheel. 

 

She sat there, hands clutching the wheel, tears pouring over her bottom eyelashes, shoulders shaking, when she heard it. 

 

Ka-chak! 

 

She swallowed, blanching as she felt cold metal pressing against the nape of her neck. 

 

Her perfect lips, now pale without lipstick or blood, tremored. 

 

“I s-s-s-supp...pose...” She started, swallowing. “T-that this i-is exp-pected...” 

 

Cold metal only pressed harder to her neck. 

 

“P-please... be-before you... l-let me c-call my my daught-” 

 

RATTA-TATTA-TAT-TAT-TATTA-TAT-TAT- KA-CHK.

 

Chk chk chk chk.

 

...

 

Brrrring. Brrring. 

 

Shff shff. 

 

“Hello?... Sir.”

 

...

 

...

 

“Yes, sir.” 

 

Click. 

____________

____________

 

There’s a moment of grievance after an item shatters into nearly nothingness.  Sighs, maybe a tear or two for something extra valuable, and then you sweep it up and move on. 

 

Sure, the vase was broken. 

 

Sure, it was nerve-wracking. 

 

But you still needed a vase. 

 

So you have to replace it. 

 

Between the old and the new, though, there is that weird space where you  _ just don’t have a vase,  _ and you’re sitting here, hands filled to the brim with flowers, and nowhere to put them. 

 

You had shattered the previous relationship status quo between you and Grillby. It lay, a million pieces of  _ what was,  _ across the floor. Your ability to make eye contact with him without the swell of emotion and the bright red face. Your ability to sit peacefully with him in the morning, watching the outside change colors with the sun without thinking about how he could be  _ closer,  _ how you wanted  _ more.  _ The want to just  _ be close,  _ previously sated by soft brushes or smiles or your morning sunrise, but now shattered by your horrible case of heart hammering and red face. 

 

You had all these flowers, and no vase to put it in. 

 

You had to talk to Grillby. You had to build a new vase! At this moment, you didn’t really care if it was romantic or not; you just wanted things to either go back to the peaceful way they were, or change to something different in order to gain a new form of peace. 

 

You couldn’t handle....  _ This.  _

 

Sans and Zait never took their eyes off you for the entire day. Every time you looked toward them, you got an eyebrow waggle or a cheeky grin. Every time you looked toward Grillby, your own face betrayed you. When, on occasion, your eyes met his, you were sure your heart would stop. 

 

Grillby seemed to be faring better than you, but, based on the blue undertones of his flames, he was not faring well. You were sure this was embarrassing for him, being ogled by you and mocked by the dastardly duo (who were currently cooing and punning. Sans was asking Grillby if your confession was  _ smooth as silk.  _ His response was to confiscate the skeleton’s lunch). He acted relatively normal, if not looking at you more often throughout the day (and that lovely blue). 

 

Either way, you danced from the kitchen to the restaurant front as much as possible, keeping your mind occupied with working with food and monsters and orders. 

 

You knew the vase would be replaced; you couldn’t handle even a day of this. If Grillby didn’t come to you to talk at the end of the day, you’d approach him once he was settled for the night. You’d have a conversation on the couch, he’d tell you he loved you like a dad or brother or something, you’d pick up the shattered pieces of the vase, happily put them back together, and more properly shield your feelings until they faded away. 

 

That’s what love did, right? 

 

Fade away? 

 

You didn’t know. You only ever had Gosren. 

 

...

 

Who were you kidding? It didn’t fade away. 

 

But it’s okay. Just being near him is okay. 

 

Just being near him is okay. 

 

“Ma’am?” 

 

You blinked, shaking your head a bit and looking down at the monster in front of you. They smiled; their entire face pulled into a wide grin, and you couldn’t stop from returning the smile. “Sorry, Tooth” you said. You liked this monster. They were a regular; they always sat on the booth second from the door on the right hand side; Grillby told you that they were a regular even underground. Either way, they were easy to talk to. You didn’t get nervous around them like you did some of the larger, louder monsters. Lesser Dog filled you with anxiety. 

 

“It’s alright,” they drawled, resting their...uhh...chin... on their knuckles, elbows on the counter. “You’re a little out of it today. Something happen between you and Grillby?” 

 

Your face painted red for the millionth time in one day, and you looked away. “Can I take your order?” 

 

“We  _ all  _ ship it, you know.” 

 

You knew what shipping meant. A little over a month ago, the large fish woman who attacked you with spears returned with her shorter yellow lizard friend, and you were schooled in the ways of “shipping” by two excited voices, one for each ear, you guess. Alphys had asked Zait if she could play  _ any  _ song on the jukebox, and Zait had responded with raised eyebrows and a knowing smirk. The jukebox began playing something about “dango,” whatever that was, and Alphys had almost immediately burst into hysterical chattering about “feels,” and her “#2 otp, only behind Mew Mew Kissy Cutie and the main love interest, of course!” Undyne had joined the excitement fest, shouting angrily(?) at Alphys for loving a “ship” that broke her heart every time the word “Clannad” was brought up. The only response to that was Alphy’s blubbering, “But T-Tomoya... Tomoyaaaa!!” Shortly afterward, upon seeing your befuddled face, the duo had explained what “shipping” was. The day ended with Grillby bringing you a drink and corralling the duo out of the restaurant with a “we closed 3 hours ago, go home.” Right before they left, though, they had looked between you and Grillby, and simultaneously shouted, “We ship it!” You pointedly ignored it. 

 

You looked away, touching your cheeks with your hand. The chuckle from Tooth only added to the blush on your face. You hated this. “Can I  _ please  _ take your order?” 

 

“Chicken please.” Tooth’s smile was growing exponentially,  _ “Flame grilled.”  _

 

“EEEYYYYYY!!!!” Sans and Zait pitched in from the bar area, both avoiding shots of fire aimed at their faces, and you almost quit right there. 

 

But alas. The ties that bind. 

 

You sighed, jotting down “Pizza,” and then trudging back to the kitchen. 

 

A hand caught your shoulder before you walked through the door, and you recognized the inhuman warmth. You looked to the side, and swallowed, smiling at Grillby. 

 

“I’m sorry,” He mumbled, not looking straight at your face. “We can talk after closing time?” It wasn’t quite a statement, but not quite a question either. You nodded nonetheless, and resisted placing a hand over his. 

 

Add another flower to the growing pile overflowing from your arms. You needed a vase. 

 

The warmth disappeared from your shoulder, and you fled to the kitchen. 

____________

____________

The firefighters would be lying if he said that seeing the dark suited man outside the station didn’t excite them. They knew that suit; they knew the sapphire blue undershirt and the four lined logo embroidered on the handkerchief hanging from the pocket. 

 

They knew it was their time.

 

Doors opened, footfalls echoed through the silent halls; the man who exuded death from his very pores sat calmly in the cushioned chair, folding his hands in his lap and looking at the officer on the other side of the desk. A small creature, a tiny fairy whose wings and hair shimmered like water, sat up from their position next to the Officer’s computer. It snarled at the large man, spat acid rain in his general direction, unable to get close enough for it to hit him due to the decorative silver chain shackling her to the table. The officer paid her no attention, nodding to the suited man. 

 

“It’s rare to see your face during the rainy season,” The officer commented, raising an eyebrow. “Is the amusement park faring well?”  

 

“Yes.” 

 

“So the dragons are behaving in kind.” 

 

“Yes.” 

 

“Does the police force need assistance in training the hellhounds?” 

 

“No.” 

 

“Hmm. Is it the phoenix?” 

 

“No. The boss sends their thanks, though. It has been sold. A rich man appreciates the new cigar lighter, and we have been able to invest in a dozen new golems.” 

 

“It was nothing, for the jobs you give us. Although I admit, if it’s not the phoenix, you’ve run me dry.” The officer leaned forward, licking his lips. His chair whined under his movement; “What could you possibly want, if it’s not any of those?” 

 

“A new,  _ very  _ valuable target. The boss would be appreciative if you helped remove their...” The large man scrunched his nose in distaste, “guard.” 

 

“And this guard is... fire related?” The officer questioned unsurely. The large man nodded. “An elemental, then?” The officer raised an eyebrow, interest piqued, “I haven’t heard of a rogue elemental since before Four Lines Club.” 

 

“No,” The man regarded the water sprite on the desk, who had returned to sitting and glowering at him. “It’s a monster.” 

 

...

 

“He needs to be eliminated.” 

 

____________

____________

 

The work day ended. People trickled out slowly but steadily, and you eventually found yourself alone with Zait and Grillby, all three of you tidying after a long work day (more specifically: Zait played music and prattled about the day while Grillby organized his alcohol and you did... everything else...). It only took about an hour for everything to be spotless, and you found yourself flopping onto the barstool at about 3 in the morning, still listening to Zait re-tell every one of Sans’ jokes, and the stories he told about Papyrus. 

 

A day’s worth of work had calmed your poor heart and stilled your mind; you had nearly forgotten the events of the previous day when Grillby’s hand lightly touched your shoulder. 

 

Ah. They’re back. 

 

You looked up with a swallow and a blush, and he simply nodded toward the upstairs. You looked to Zait; her prattling ceased the moment Grillby touched you, and she simply waggled an eyebrow and waved for the both of you to go. You smiled; Zait may be a pain in the ass, but at least she was observant. 

 

Well. 

 

Anyone would probably see the tension between you and Grillby at the moment; your face was an eternal cherry. 

 

You followed Grillby up the stairs, both of you mindlessly skipping the fourth step. At the top of the stairs, you split. He headed to his room to change, already pulling at the collar of his shirt, undoing the tie. The door shut almost silently behind him. You found your way toward the couch, nervously sitting down in the corner, tucking your knees close to your chest. Your back rest against the arm-rest. 

 

How would this conversation go? How did conversations like this  _ normally  _ go? Did they really happen? You thought back to Gosren, and concluded that the situations were too different to compare; Gerson had shown up to the front door with a stuttering voice and a bouquet of flowers that could put Asgore’s old garden to shame. Gosren, upon opening the door, had nearly laughed her head off (you thought she was going to suffocate, and rushed to her aid only to have her wave you off), and then tossed herself into Gerson’s arms, still laughing as she accepted his request to court her. 

 

See, you  _ lived  _ with Grillby. He had no door to knock on, no roses to bring. You felt like your relationship with Grillby was vastly different than Gerson and Gosren’s when he first began courting her. You were closer. Before, and even weeks after, Gerson hadn’t hugged Gosren much, or kissed her at  _ all _ , and he normally left the house when the sun went down. You and Grillby, on the other hand... 

 

You heard Grillby’s door open, and looked up momentarily. 

 

He would go to the kitchen to grab something to eat first, and then probably bring it, along with a serving for you, to the couch. Then he’d grab a book and slowly nibble away. Only after both you and he had finished your plates would he put his book down, and begin to talk. 

 

You just knew that was how it would go; you knew him and his habits like the back of your hand. 

 

And, lo and behold, he began walking toward the kitchen. 

 

Heh. 

 

You couldn’t help compare your relationship with Grillby to Gosren’s. Her relationship with Gerson was the only other relationship you  _ knew.  _ It took  _ months  _ for your turtle friends to get to the closeness that you and Grillby were already at; well, you and Grillby  _ had  _ known each other for quite a few months now, so maybe that wasn’t an apt comparison. Either way, you already had the comfort with Grillby that Gosren slowly gained with her beau. You still remember watching them get closer and closer, until they almost moved and breathed as one. A hand on a shoulder, fingers entwined, smiles shared continuously. Even their feet, eventually, always matched up. As they trudged next to each other, it was only your keen hearing that allowed you to know that there were two instead of one. 

 

But you were  _ already like that  _ with Grillby. 

 

Mostly... 

 

What- How would a relationship be different, if you already had that closeness with someone? Was Grillby already courting you without you or him knowing it? When did your feelings for Grillby morph away from the type of feelings you had for Gosren? 

 

A small cough came from your left; you looked up just in time to take the incoming plate from Grillby’s hands. 

 

Leftover chicken pot pie from dinner two days ago. You wondered, for a moment, if Grillby heated it up with that box he called a “microwave,” or if he used his magic. Eh. You didn’t care that much. Grillby settled next to you, lifting his legs up onto the couch, and spreading them out along the remainder of the open couch. His bare feet tucked themselves under your socked ones. 

 

They were warm, and it filled you with something other than the horrible blushing you’d been suffering from for the entire day. It was like a lightbulb, flicked on in your chest, warming your core and pulling a smile to your face. It settled your heart and calmed your nerves; you felt your shoulders drop to a more relaxed position, and happily dug into your dinner. 

 

Did Grillby get the same feeling that you did when the two of you were near each other? When you shared the couch like this, when you relaxed with him in compatible silence, did he feel like everything was right in the world, like you did? 

 

Did he feel like he could finally put down some of his responsibilities, and just enjoy himself, like you did? 

 

You felt a shy, contemplative smile tickle your face, and you nearly chuckled aloud. 

 

Maybe things hadn’t changed? Maybe you just  _ thought  _ the vase was broken, so you needlessly held all those flowers for the whole day. 

 

Of course! 

 

You couldn’t lose  _ this  _ so easily. No matter if you told Grillby that you wanted... 

 

You shook your head a bit. 

 

No matter  _ what,  _ you knew that you probably couldn’t lose this relationship with Grillby. You can’t destroy peace like this so easily, else your relationship with Gosren would have crumbled the moment Gerson left. 

 

No... If things changed or not, you would be content. You didn’t  _ need  _ Grillby to be your Gerson. Sure, you  _ wanted  _ it, but  _ this.....  _ This was enough. 

 

You wiggled your toes, a small smile still gracing your cheeks. 

 

Grillby’s toes wiggled back, and you looked over at him, expecting his normal, peaceful expression. You were surprised to find his white almond eyes staring straight at you, his fissure of a mouth pulled into a straight line; he looked contemplative. 

 

“About last night...” he began. Your eyebrows raised; he hadn’t finished his dinner yet, and neither had you. Conversations never started before appetites were sated, that was the unspoken rule. He stopped, looking away from you for a moment before letting out a sigh, and placing his plate on the coffee table, avoiding the two figurines. You followed suit. He sighed; you could see the air twist and morph under the heat of his breath. “I...” he trailed off again, and for the first time ever, you realized he was at a loss for words. 

 

“Grillby,” you answered, calling his attention. Was he hesitant because he didn’t know how to tell you he loved you platonically? You shifted, pulling your legs off the couch, sitting up straight, facing him. Well. You could make this conversation easy. Talking with Grillby was almost  _ always  _ easy, since most of your conversation was inferences and knowledge. You could say only a few words, and he seemed to understand entire paragraphs of meaning. So, you smiled at him, “I understand.” 

 

Because you  _ did  _ understand. 

 

His flames flared, like a hot blast spittling from the top of his head. The center of his face grew brighter, brighter, and then slowly gained a shade of blue. “Then...” he began, looking away for a moment. He shifted, pulling his own feet from the couch now and facing you proper, closer than normal. Your throat constricted as you looked up at him. 

 

You felt his hand lightly fall on top of yours, and your mind prickled in surprise. Your heart nearly jumped from your chest. 

 

What was he-? 

 

“May I kiss you?” 

 

....

 

Scratch that. You didn’t understand.

 

“What?” 

 

“May I kiss you,” He repeated, this time less like a question. 

 

Oh....

 

Oh! 

 

You didn’t understand! 

 

It wasn’t-! 

 

He-? 

 

He-! 

 

Oh Lords he  _ likes  _ you! 

 

And he just asked-! 

 

And you haven’t said anything! 

 

And- and-

 

A hand, the hand not on yours, lightly cupped your face. He breathed your name like it were the finest wine, and it stole the thoughts from your mind. A wash of heat licked your face; he was so close. 

 

He was waiting. 

 

Your lips parted, but your voice failed. You nodded instead: two short, quick bobs of your head, and his hand began moving. It trailed from your cheek to below your ear, fingers brushing across your skin till his hand stopped at the back of your neck. 

 

The heat from his fingers travelled across your skin and down your spine as his face grew closer. Your eyes fluttered closed as his mouth met yours. 

 

Heat spread across your face as he pressed the fissure that was his mouth to your lips; it contoured like lips did, although a bit more flat. The kiss was soft, still, chaste; it lingered, though, both of you reluctant to let the other go. His hand tightened around yours, and he pulled away, only enough for his eyes to catch yours. 

 

The smile on his face was different; it shimmered with something new and warm and sweeter than honey. You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning up, and pressing your lips to his again; it was quicker, stolen, and the chuckle that it elicited made everything in the world right. He pulled away from you, his hands leaving your neck and fingers, wrapping around your back and pulling you to his chest instead. Your own arms wound around his torso, and he squeezed you close, the side of his head pressing against your ear, his chin resting over your shoulder. 

 

You relaxed in his arms, and realized that this vase was  _ much  _ better than the other one. 

 

His chuckle rumbled in your chest as he leaned backward, and you were suddenly falling back into the couch. Your feet flailed below you, knocking into the coffee table before he pulled you the rest of the way onto the couch. 

 

The figurines jostled; your’s fell over. 


	15. This is home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader has a minor "I'm 700 years old and things were different back then" moment. 
> 
> Also other plot-relavent things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO I'M ALIVE! 
> 
>  
> 
> and whoooollllyyyy crap this took a while to write, but we're gearing up ya'all!   
> New stuff from Aria! I love it!!!
> 
> Grillky.tumblr.com
> 
> not much fanart since i've been...y'know...dead... but check it out! I love ya'all!

You thought that not much would change. 

You and Grillby were already like Gosren and...

No! Stop comparing the two! 

...

But still. Sans and Zait and Alphys and Undyne and Tooth already made jokes about you and Grillby already being a thing, so there wouldn’t be much of a difference now that you were, right? 

...Right? 

You woke up on Grillby’s chest, his arms wrapped around your waist, legs entwined (if not bent at awkward positions due to the size of the couch you had apparently fallen asleep on). The cold air of the morning that normally tormented you was nowhere to be found when you were this near your little heater. You roused, scrunching your eyes a bit before groggily noting how wonderfully warm Grillby was to lie on. Also, how much you slept, even though it wasn’t really... necessary. You shifted, movements hindered quite a bit by the limbs wrapped around you, and lifted your head a bit. You caught sight of Grillby’s sleeping face, and realized your current position on top of him. You blinked wearily, and then

OH MY THIS IS WILDLY INAPPROPRIATE!!!!

Just as quickly as you realized you were sleeping with a man out of wedlock, the shadows accepted you. You fazed through Grillby, the couch, the floor, and ended up slamming into the ground in the kitchen, grunting in pain. 

You were living with-! You panicked, heartbeat scrambling in your chest. This was horribly inappropriate! Even if your relationship had just changed, it was still! Socially! Unacceptable! How scandalous! What would the neighbors think?

Your mind flashed to Undyne and Alphys, and you almost immediately realized that maybe you blowing this out of proportion. 

You mean, it’s 201X now! Times could have changed in 700 years; maybe living with someone out of wedlock wasn’t a socially ostracizing offense nowadays? 

Yeah!

...

Yeah that sounds okay. Sure. It’s not like you could leave anyway... 

You heard yourself chuckle, and found it humerous. Small bleats of laughter escaped your lips; did you just have a panic attack about the social acceptability of you living in the house you were trapped in because you were romantically interested in the owner? Ha...hahaha.... Hhhhh... 

“If I were to ask why you’re sitting in the middle of the kitchen, laughing at nothing, would I like the answer?” A voice rang from your upper right. You looked over, blinking at Zait as she floated in the air, raising an eyebrow at you. You huffed a small laugh, waving a hand at her a few times in dismissal. She grunted, falling to the ground next to you. “I’m guessing the conversation last night went well?” You nodded; she smiled. “Your tempo changed. It’s a bit slower now, so I thought maybe something groundbreaking happened between you two.” 

“Tempo...” you trailed off. Zait had explained it before, but you still got lost in it a few times. 

“Yeah. You were at around 60, but you’re 48 now. Like, uhh. Nothing Else Matters by Metallica, or My Immortal by Evanescence.” 

“I don’t know those songs.” 

“... I’ll show you sometime today.” 

“What’s Grillby’s?” 

“Mmmm, around 80 ish. But that’s not important.” She waved the conversation away, floating in the air just long enough for her to fold her legs under herself. “What’s the sitch on you and Grillb upstairs?” You blushed. Zait squealed. “So did you guys.. You know...” You looked at Zait; she was waggling her eyebrows and fist bumping herself repeatedly. You blinked. Her self-fist-bumping slowed down, and her smile lost a bit of it’s excitement. “You know...” She leaned forward, nodding her head now with the pounding of her fists. What was she-??? Finally, she sighed, waving her hands a bit, “Never mind... Never mind. What are you doing down here, anyway?” 

“I fell through the ceiling.” 

“Ahh, I see. I see.” Zait paused, a small frown flitting across her face before she remembered that that was a thing you could do. Then, “Why?” 

“I realized I was sleeping with Grillby.” 

“Ah,” Zait mused, nodding absentmindedly, smacking her lips together for a few moments. Finally, she paused, “Wait.... What?” 

“I was sleep-” 

“Yes!” She was suddenly much more animated, only a few inches from your face, her eyes alight with excitement. “But were you sleeping with him, or sleeping with him? Wait!” She retreated a few inches, “But if you were sleeping with him and fell through the floor, you’d probably be much more flustered-but! You WERE flustered! HOLY FUCK! You SLEPT with him ALREADY?!?!?” 

Oh no. It was STILL socially unacceptable! Oh no oh no oh no! “Ah!” You floundered, retreating a bit from Zait. “I mean! I was just! It was an accident!” 

“AN ACCIDENT!” Zait hollered, grinning wolfishly, “How is THAT an accident?” 

“Well! He pulled me down onto the couch after we ki-... kissed... and he was just so warm that I couldn’t stop it!” 

“Warm?” Zait waggled her eyebrows, “Or hot?” 

“Well it was pretty hot,” you mused, thinking about his general temperature, which made Zait toss herself onto the ground, laughing wildly. 

“Oh just wait till Sans hears this!” Zait giggled, wiping a proverbial tear, “He owes me so much money!” 

You blanched, “Money! What were you betting on?” 

“That-! That-!” Zait tried to talk between laughing, but it took quite a while. “That you were gonna blue-ball Grillby till y'all got hitched!” 

...

....Blue ball? 

....Hitched? 

....

“I’m sorry, I’m lost,” you admitted, frowning, ears still ringing in alarm. Zait blinked, looking at you with a confused stare until realization flashed over her features. 

“Oh shit, right. Slang. Hah! Okay. So Sans and I were betting on when you were going to fu-” 

“Zait!” The booming, crackling sound of Grillby’s voice made you jump, and Zait scramble away on all fours, still laughing as she faded through a wall, leaving you alone with your flaming...

Your flaming... 

You blushed, then paused. 

What was Grillby to you now? He asked to kiss you, but... not to court you... was he courting you? You already lived together, so did you just skip pas- oh gods, did you skip past the courting? No, you’ve never been courted before! You wanted to know what being courted felt like! And what did that say about your relationship with him? Were you already his beau? 

OH GODS what if he requested a marital tie since you were living with him? Wouldn’t that be the social obligation in this sort of situation? Oh gods, oh gods you weren’t ready for that! You’re not even a millennium old! AND you’re still tied to a house, for Muse’s sake! How would that even wor-

Grillby sighed, pulling you from your anxiety-inducing train of thought and running a hand over the top of his head, flames flickering through his fingers. He was standing halfway down the stairs, still wearing last night's clothing, eyes still half closed with good sleep. He finally looked at you, his own face lighting up with white hues as he smiled. The flames atop his head flickered excitedly, popping and crackling with soft hues and gentle licks.

He was dazzling. 

How had you not noticed just how dazzling he was before? 

He trekked down the rest of the stairs, stopping in front of you and holding out a hand. You stare at it for a moment, watching the soft licking flames coax a soft breath from your lips. It was only last night that those hands sidled into your hair, cradled the back of your neck, pulled you toward his shimmering face, his soft, gentle lips... You hesitate, face burning red, and his only response is to smile patiently, drawing his hand a bit closer to you. You swallow, steel your thoughts (to the best of your ability), and take his hand; he quickly pulls you to your feet, and then further, into his chest. His free arm easily wraps around your waist, holding your firm against him. You find his face mere inches from yours. 

“Good morning,” his voice rumbles, reminding you of his lips on yours the night before. Soft, sweet kisses and warm hands cradling you lovingly. He chuckles when you stammer out a reply, failing to give him any truly cohesive words. 

“A-Ah... G-g-good.... Uhh...” You swallow, and then resign yourself to silence as his white almond eyes burn into your soul, his mouth pulls into an impossibly wide grin. The bright smile licking his face made you wonder how you didn’t realize how dazzling he was before. And when he huffed, almost disbelieving, and bumped his forehead against his, releasing soft, quiet, crackling laughs as he drew closer and pressed those lips to the corner of your mouth... you wondered how your poor heart was going to survive an affectionate Grillby. 

You thought not much would change between you and Grillby now that feelings were out on the table. 

...

You were wrong. 

...

Your mind flashed to Zait’s surprised and boisterous outrage when you mentioned that you had slept with Grillby...

Oh...

This was wildly inappropriate! 

“Ah-!” You squealed, pulling away from Grillby and looking everywhere but at him. You felt Grillby let go of you; hands trailed along your sides reluctantly, but he pulled away anyway, a frown etched in the flames of his face. Regret swam through your consciousness almost immediately, but you steeled yourself, taking a deliberate step back, face burning hotter than his. He murmured your name in confusion. 

“Are you okay?” He inquired, raising a hand to touch your shoulder, but he stopped when you squeezed your eyes shut, face impossibly red. His hand hung in the air for a few moments before dropping. 

“Uhh-!” You so eloquently expressed, opening your eyes and staring at your feet, “I, Uhh...” You swallowed. How were you supposed to go about this? You couldn’t move out of the house so he could properly court you, but you also couldn’t just skip proper social conventions, and just go straight to marriage! And Zait was going to tell Sans and the others! How would Sans and the guests see Grillby if they knew he was living so scandalously?

Your ears burst into red at the thought, and you choked. You couldn’t humiliate Grillby like that!

You chewed on your lip for a moment, frowning. You didn’t want to stop the growing relationship between you and Grillby, but at the same time you didn’t want to ostracize him from society because he was.... He was... Oh gods it would look like he was using you like a house-elf slave! Those existed even seven hundred years ago; house elves tied to a home being forced to do salacious activities because they had no other choice... Panic gripped you for a moment, and you took half a step back. Grillby wasn’t like that! You couldn’t let anyone think that he- that he-! 

Grillby’s sigh, once again, pulled you from your inner panic; you looked up to see him frowning at you, and flinched. Your inner-monologuing just had you flinching away from him. Oh-that probably didn’t look good. He looked away from you, toward the kitchen door. “The sunrise...” he started, and then returned his gaze to you, “Warm milk and honey sound good?” 

His eyes looked... dim. His smile was tight, almost forced, and you didn’t like it. “Uhh, yeah.” You mumbled, scanning his face.

He turned away from you, walking through the kitchen door; you following quietly behind. 

You’d need to talk to him sooner rather than later; you didn’t like that look on his face.  
________________  
________________

The tuning fork sat on Sans’s desk for nearly a week before he decided he should actually look at it. 

It unnerved him, actually, the way it sat on his desk like the simple object it was, but commanded his attention like it were a glimmering diamond. The temptation to just pick it up, and tap it against something - anything - was nearly impossible to ignore. But he ignored it, refusing to be pulled in by its promises of a perfect note. 

That is, until he found himself sitting at his cluttered desk, holding the cold metal in his fingers, telling himself he had procrastinated for too long. It was time for him to actually acknowledge the tuning fork in the room. 

Hah. 

He still didn’t like it. He didn’t trust it. He had looked at it through his judgement eye multiple times, and each time, it unsettled him. He had expected some sort of magical remnants on it; he wanted it to show something that he could grasp onto, and deem it as safe, or dangerous. 

What he got instead was stats. 

Attack, 0. Defense, 0. HP, 2/100.

No level. How could it have a level, being an inanimate object? But with that logic, how could it have attack, or defense? How could it be so low on HP when it looked like a perfectly fine tuning fork, no scratches in sight. 

He swallowed, still holding the tuning fork as if one soft jostle would destroy it, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. He sighed, glancing at the soft towel he had brought in from the kitchen; he had looked up so many videos on tuning forks in the past week, it was bordering on an obsession. Tap the tuning fork on something soft, the videos said, hard objects will make for an unclean note. He held the metal object a few inches from the towel, hesitating. Lightly tap the fork on your chosen surface, and then hold it to your ear, or place it’s base flat on a hard surface to let it resonate louder. He had decided that holding it to his ear may be the better bet, so it didn’t get too loud. 

Finally.... Tap!

A hand touched his shoulder. 

He was out of his chair in an instant, sending a flurry of bones behind him and whipping around, eye pulsing with power as a blaster appeared near his head. 

The bones clattered against the wall opposite of his desk, and fell harmlessly onto the ground, never hitting anything. The blaster remained unfired, hovering inches from Sans’s head, just as frozen as the skeleton wielding it. 

In front of him, stark yet gracefully still, stood a woman, not fully opaque, but getting there. Dark ringlets cascaded past her shoulders, down her front, stopping at her waist. Her skin, the darkest, softest ebony, shimmered with imperfection, parts hidden by silk that cascaded over her shoulders and wrapped around her waist in the form of a regal, flowing dress. The color, which immediately rang bells in Sans’s head not unlike the soft “e” that sang through his room, was not unlike her eyes...

The darkest sapphire blue seemingly stared through Sans’s soul, sending reminiscent shivers through his shoulders. 

This woman was...

The woman, whose very presence sang of soft symphonies and calming kalimbas, took a bare-footed step forward, and reached out a hand, one long finger lightly touching the tuning fork still clutched in Sans’s iron grip. 

The low, soft “e” sprang forth with renewed vigor, clean and sharp and joined by seemingly endless undertones that layered and layered in perfect companionship until, just as Sans was sure the sound alone would pull grateful tears from his bone-dry eyes, it stopped. In the silence that followed, Sans could hear the woman’s lips part; he could hear the air lazily greet her patient lungs. 

“Me-lo-dy,” she spoke, each syllable dancing from her lips like they were their own word, and each word having the importance of a life-long lover. 

Somewhere, it rattled in his mind that he was being horribly rude by not responding. 

“Uhh, that’s more of a harmony, than a melody,” he nervously joked, and then internally smacked himself. 

The soft, single laugh that escaped the woman’s lips eased his worries. 

“True,” She replied, an easy, beautiful smile falling onto her lips like it belonged there. Sans wondered how she made each sound that came from her mouth sound so articulate, so planned. “Unfortunately, a melody is impossible with only one note, skeleton,” She titled him with mild amusement, making him realize he had yet to give her his name. 

“Uhh, Sans,” he provided awkwardly, “Sans the... skeleto- oh you just said that... Uhh... Sans.” 

If she did not give him a deep, soft giggle at his introduction, he was sure he would have fallen to pieces right there. Luckily, she did giggle, removing her finger from the tuning fork as she closed her eyes and gave the smallest head-bow. “Melody,” she repeated, and he realized her previous word was not an explanation, but an introduction. 

“Oh.” He shuffled a bit, looking away from her, and noticing the trash tornado in the corner of his room. He had never felt self-conscious about the disaster that was his cleaning habits until now, when a hundredth of a god stood not 5 feet from his treadmill. 

“So, Sans the skeleton sir,” The woman spoke, looking at him once more with a patient smile, “You seem to have come upon my host object.” Her head nodded toward the tuning fork in Sans’s hand, drawing his attention to it. Familiarity rang in his head once more as her eyes trailed over the cold metal with something akin to mild but somehow graceful disdain. “I presume you are aware, then, of my duty to...” She paused for only a moment, a look he could not explain dancing across her features, “assist...you in your musical endeavors.” She gave a larger bow now, “How may I be of service to you?”  
_________________  
__________________

“We should get a TV.” 

“Hn.” 

“No seriously, Grillbz, are you listening?” 

“Hn?” 

“Dude. TV. Have you ever heard of the Grammy Awards? I’m missing out on the Grammy Awards!” 

“Hn.” Grillby continued cleaning the glass in his hand, which was already impeccably spotless. Zait, who had set herself up on the corner of the bar, let out a huff, watching the elemental’s eyes travel around the bar, continuously following your trek from table to table as you solemnly went about your job. 

“...What happened between you two?” Zait whispered, noting that this was probably the longest time she’d ever seen you go without stealing a glance at the owner of the bar. Grillby responded to her question with a soft sigh, and a resounding squeak of the glass in his hand. Zait only frowned more, glancing at the glass. “You were fine this morning...” she trailed off, finally getting Grillby to look at her. The emotions splayed across his face had the muse nearly blanch in worry. 

“She....” Grillby fell silent for a moment, eyes trailing across the bar to find you again. You were currently trying to escape a playfully angry Tooth who was, as far as he could hear from across the bar, complaining about the “not chicken” that you had given them yesterday. He took a calming breath; the air did not distort as it flooded out of his mouth, though, as it did when his soul burned bright and his temperature echoed it. “She...regrets last night,” he finally said, voice deep and rumbling and hesitant. 

He missed Zait’s eyes widen, he missed her shoot an incredulous look in your direction, he missed how the song skipped a few times before the raven haired woman calmed herself down. “She... She said that?” 

“No,” Grillby finally placed the glass down, and pressed both his hands to the bartop, leaning his weight on it and staring at you for a short while longer. Your hair was pulled up today in a tight, perfect looking bun, with not a hair standing out. It was odd to see, considering how there was almost always a halo of hair framing your face in curly waves. “She fled from my touch.” 

“Well that could mean anything, really! You could have been e-extra warm, or sh-she was just shy because i-it was her first time, or maybe she was just, uhh, filled with so much love that she had to take a step back a-and just look at yo-” 

“Zait.” 

“Grillby!” Zait almost screeched, tossing her hands in the air for a moment, “You can’t really just give up like that! There’s got to be a reason! Some sort of a... a misunderstanding!” 

“I know.” 

“You gotta give her a chance! Just talk to he- wait...” Zait paused, looking at Grillby, confused. “You know?” 

“Of course.” Grillby almost snorts, but huffs instead, picking up the glass and cleaning it again. He watched you flee from one table with a short bow, and quickly glide to another table, returning to the Toothy familiar with yet another bow, and the most formal smile he’d ever seen on your face. He hated that smile, it made him feel like you were distancing yourself from people. You had given him that smile this morning when he offered to take the empty cup from you once you had finished your morning drink, and it had unsettled him even then. Now, after you had retreated upstairs and changed into one of your old dresses instead of the clothing he had gotten you, he had only seen those smiles. 

“Ssssoooo.... What’s the problem then?” 

“The problem...” Grillby trailed off, hands stilling on the glass between his fingers; his eyes never left you, watching as you trailed from table to table, giving each guest that same bow, that same smile, that same impeccable, distant service that unsettled his soul. 

The problem was simple. The problem was why? Why did you regret last night? In the first moment that you had retreated from him, a flash of hurt had seared his soul, telling him that you just didn’t love him, but just as quick as it came, it was gone. Of course you loved him; he had seen the way the tether quivered when you looked at him, or when he pushed his toes under yours, or when he joined you at the window-sill early in the morning. Then his soul told him that maybe you didn’t love him like that, and he once again dispelled it with memories of last night. 

The deer in headlights when he asked you for a kiss, the look of shock and disbelief and wonder, the red that tinted your cheeks as he slid his hand into your soft hair, the feeling of your cool lips pressed hesitantly against his, moving slowly, with enraptured uncertainty, but moving none the less; the soft, chilled breath that washed over his face when your lips parted from his, the look of unbridled adoration shining in your eyes as you looked at him, the grin that grew on your face like flowers bloomed, the short, sweet, stolen kiss you took from him only moments later, the way you melded into his side like you just belonged... 

...

You loved him. 

So what was the problem? What was the panic that spilled across your face this morning? Why did you take a step back from his embrace, why did your eyes look so, well, regretful? He wished he could just look at you, scan you from head to toe like he normally could, and diagnose the problem like it were some curable disease. The warm milk and honey this morning was not the cure, to his chagrin. No, right now you were unreadable. Something was upsetting you, something had you avoiding him like even looking at him was shameful. 

It hurt, yes, but more so, it worried him. It worried him that the two of you had finally mustered up the courage to take a step forward in your relationship, and now you were acting like... 

Like...

You skittered past the bar area, retreating to the kitchen with a hand full of plates and a downturned head; you looked like a hurried maid trying to go about her duties without bothering a soul. Grillby sighed, watching you pass without even giving him a glance. 

Like...

...

Oh.  
_________  
___________

“Listen to you, you spineless coward, spouting your hopeful bullshit like you don’t know what you did!” 

“I had the elemental secured already, you really wanted me to endanger her just for a chance that-” 

“YES!” Smash! Clatter! “This isn’t some strategy game here, Grackle! These are real people!” 

“Sparrow, honey, please calm down.” 

“I will NOT calm down! This isn’t some thing we ca-” 

“I did what I had to, okay? We have a chance to make an actual impact on the front with these elementals! With their intel, we could create a legitimate connection between Four Lines, Trowley, and the Elemental Mills! Then we’d finally have something to pin-” 

CRASH!

“That’s all this is to you, isn’t it!?” 

“Sparrow, please.”

“Listen to Raven, you’re being ridiculous.” 

“We aren’t dispensable pawns, G!” 

“I had to think about the overall-” 

“Crow is DEAD because of you! You had a chance, one chance to save her, to get Green, and you left both of them to die because of some minute risk that you’d go to. That your fucking plan wouldn’t go the way you wanted! You coward!” 

“It wouldn’t have made a differe-” 

CRASH! SLAM!

“THAT WAS MY SISTER! YOU FUCKING COWARD! MY SISTER! FUCK YOU!” 

“Sparrow, we’re all upset...” 

“It wouldn’t have made a difference!” 

“YES IT WOULD HAVE! You didn’t have to leave her! You could have saved her! She could have been here, right now, if you just gave a flying fuck about anything other than your goddamn goals! People died, G!” 

“We knew that was a possibility.” 

A scoff. 

“Yeah, we did. We sure did. By the hands of the enemy, though, not the hands of a friend.” 

“I didn’t kill her!” 

“Oh! Because choosing to let her get shot so you can escape while she bleeds out isn’t killing her! Fuck you!” 

“I did what-”

“You didn’t do anything! That’s the fucking problem, G! You’re going to kill all of us if it means your precious elementals get freed!” 

“That’s not my intention!” 

“Yeah, well it’s gonna happen anyway. I’m done. Out. I can’t do this anymore. You’ve already killed one in my family, I ain’t letting you kill two. C’mon, Raven.” 

Tmp. Tmp. Tmp. Tmp. 

...

“Raven!” 

“You don’t have to leave just because she is, Rave.” 

“...” 

“C’mon, let’s go!” 

“Coming!” 

Tmp. Tmp. Tmp. SLAM! 

...

“Shit...”  
____________  
____________

You were weak. You always knew how weak you were, what with how you ended up following Gosren around like a happy puppy. You and she had your fair share of fights, but they almost never lasted more than a couple of hours; you just couldn’t handle the horrid silence between you and your loved one. 

You thought that, maybe after 700 years of forced solitude, you’d be much more able to handle the crushing loneliness of “not talking” to someone you were close to. And you thought, hell, you’re not tied to Grillby, so that would also make it easier. Finally, you weren’t mad at him, you weren’t doing this to spite him, no. This was for him. If you remained impartial toward him when guests were around, acted like the silky you were, a maid, then his name would remain untarnished. So this would be easy!

...Yeah. That works. And then, at the end of the day, after everyone went home, you could talk to Grillby, could tell him your grievances, could work something out. There was no way in plausible history that you were just dropping your feelings for him; no, but you could come up with something that would save his face. Maybe only get close to him upstairs? You could call yourself his, uhh, concubine or something... Those still existed, right? Well. Either way, you just had to survive till the end of the day, keep face as the sweet silky house-elf you were, and then you could talk to Grillby about, uhh, where to go from here. 

A simple feat, you reiterate to yourself as you pass by a very dim Grillby, resisting every urge to look at his face, knowing you’d only see the dejected look you’d seen every other time you’ve given into that stupid temptation. Instead, you scurry back to Tooth’s table, flame grilled chicken in hand, completely unaware of the two sets of judging eyes boring into the back of your head. 

“She’s dumb,” Zait points out, tapping her fingers on the jukebox resting under her thighs. 

“Mmm,” Sans agrees, dipping a fry into some ketchup until it is completely saturated. “Don’t tell her that, though. You might break her little brain.” 

“Does she really think she can pull off the, ‘i’m just a maid’ gimmick? After working here and getting to know everyone for so long?” 

“Maybe she just wasn’t maid for that kind of plotting,” Sans snickers, watching you as you were literally trying to escape Tooth; they had latched their mouth (hopefully harmlessly) around half of your arm and were refusing to let go, all the while mumbling through the spittle pouring from their mouth (and onto the floor, to your abject horror) that you owed them twice as much flame grilled chicken. “It’s still weird to see her hair up so perfectly though. Kinda creepy.” 

“Well, she thinks she’s gotten herself into a hairy situation,” Zait provides, and receives a slight grimace from Sans. “Okay, that one was bad. Sorry. Still.” The muse turns to look at Grillby, who had been uncharacteristically silent, even for him. “I can’t believe it slipped all our minds that she’d still be thinking about dating rituals in the 1300’s.” 

“The dress and hair gave it away.” 

“She does look weird back in dated garb, doesn’t she?” 

“I feel like Grillbs should pull out his old suit to match her.” 

“Woah! Grillby! You’ve got dated shit too?” 

“Hn.” Grillby grunted not quite an answer, eyes still glued on you as you obediently travelled through the restaurant. He hated it. He wanted to walk straight to you, snatch you by the waist, and smother you until you stopped doing whatever this was and came back to him with calming smiles and curiosity and your own special brand of moping. Zait, disappointed by Grillby’s lack of response, returned her attention to Sans. 

“How long do you think this’ll keep going?” 

“Ohhh no, I’m not betting against you again,” Sans laughed, “I already lost quite a bit of money on the, uhh...” Sans glanced over at Grillby, and had to hide a smirk, “You know.” 

“I told you they’d fuck.” 

“Zait!” Grillby’s head shot toward Zait, flames bursting outward for a moment before settling back to their previous state, albeit a little less dim. 

“Whaaat?” Zait shrugged, a wolfish smile dancing across her face as she barked out laughter. “She told me this morning that you guys fucked! I had to cash out on it!” 

“We did no such thing,” Grillby hissed, taking a few marching steps toward the muse and leaning over the counter, bringing his voice to a whisper. 

“Oh?” Sans’s eyebones raised in surprise, and he glanced at Zait with the biggest “Who-owes-me-money-now?” look. Zait glanced between the two men, and paled. 

“What? That’s what she said! You guys totally had ridiculous, crazy, magic-addled mega-sex, didn’t you?” 

The squeak that came from the other side of the bar was enough to make all three conversants realize that Zait’s volume may have been a little loud, and that a few people may have overheard the conversation. The serving tray that came flying at Zait’s head gave all three the answer as to just who had heard that last tid bit. 

Zait had hollered, eyes wide, and then just kinda... lost corporeality for a moment, letting the serving tray slice through her translucent form and clatter against the wall behind her. “Hey!” She yelped, “What is up with everyone trying to harm me!? I’m very fragile, you know! One hundredth of a soul, here! Pretty darn breakable! Lay back on the projectiles!” 

You may have apologized at a different time, but you were currently hightailing it across the bar to the muse, eyes filled with more fire than Grillby’s. “We! Did! No! Such! Thing!” You barked as you grew closer and closer, till you stood right in front of the muse, smoke metaphorically billowing from your ears. “I am trying with all of my might to save Grillby’s face, and you have to go shouting something as, as, as lewd as that in the middle of the bar?” You are jabbing at her chest now, angry and embarrassed and angry and embarrassed and angry and embarrassed all at the same time. 

“Woah there, kid,” Sans interjects, a bony hand resting on your shoulder. “You’re gonna have to face the facts pretty soon... I don’t think you have to save Grillby’s, uhh, reputation from anything, ‘miright Grillbs?” 

“Hn,” Grillby adds, just glad that he can finally see you again instead of that imposter that was walking around all day. He’s already leaning on the bar, flames flickering more normally, and face losing some of it’s pinched demeanor. You whip toward Sans with a scowl, but before you can spout anything, the skeleton picks up his voice. 

“In fact, I think everyone here would be rib splittingly happy to see you two just fizzidiyuckin’ kiss already!” Your face exploded in color, but Sans was quick to continue, refusing to let you stutter out a complaint. “Ain’t that right, guys!?” He shouts, catching the audience, who had all been trying their best to eavesdrop with as much subtlety as possible (which was basically none, as the entire bar had fallen silent in bated anticipation for what they all knew was coming with their wonderful monster intuition... or because Grillby hadn’t once left the bar to meander around the restaurant, instead letting his eyes trail you like a lost, in love puppy for the entire day, and they had grown tired of watching you try with all the might your little body could hold to not cave under his loving gaze, and just go up and sha-la-la-la-la kiss the guy.) The audience all hollered and held up glasses, and before you had a chance to fully comprehend that maybe things had changed, Grillby’s hand was already on your shoulder, he was already leaning over the bar, and his lips were already pressed firmly against your cheek. 

Your face was a furnace before he pulled away a second later. You finally looked at him, after hours of avoiding his gaze, and the mirthful smirk that played on his visible lips had your heart strumming in your chest. You felt your heart in your throat, and opened your mouth to undoubtedly let out the worst stutter in the world, when the bar erupted into your worst nightmare. 

“Lips! Lips! Lips! Lips! Lips!” They chanted, the dual-action smug faced grins coming from either side of you adding to your horror. Grillby only laughed, three soft chuckles, and then nodded to you, asking permission. 

It was at this moment that you realized that being courted by Grillby probably meant you were somewhat doomed to be courted by his entire bar as well. When you looked around, though, eyes meeting with the excited, loving gazes of the people you had been serving for the past while, the horror slowly ebbed from your mind. 

You remembered the droves of monsters that used to trek through your house 700 years ago, talking of war plans but also joking and smiling and laughing and loving, and something clicked in your soul. These were those people now. These were your people now. Your host family before was Gosren and Gerson, but now... now you had Grillby and Sans and Zait and all these people. A new, different warmth flooded in your chest, something all too overwhelming, something that filled your heart, filled your throat, and then spilled from your eyes. 

For as long as you could remember, your priorities were this house, and the 2 people that lived in it. Three things to protect, three things to pour your heart into. For the longest while, it was only one thing, and then it was two, and then it was three again, when Zait joined your family, but... But now! 

You had a big family. 

You had a big family of people who you knew but didn’t know, whose names escaped you, but who you could never forget, of grinning, cheering, whooping people who you’d never replace again for the silence of your previously abandoned home. 

No.

House.

Your previously abandoned house. 

But now! Now this place was a home. 

And with that, tears streaming down your face, you whipped around and gave your family what they wanted, pulling Grillby to your face and (rather forcefully) smacking your lips to his. 

It was probably the least graceful kiss, considering Grillby didn’t even have time to react before the entire bar erupted into a cacophony of cheers, and you were pulling away from his lips to pepper his cheeks and nose with not-quite-a-kiss face-presses, laughter spilling from your lips and straight into the flames of his soul. 

At this moment, you were sure...

Things are okay. 

...

This is good. This is great! These are family.

This is home!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Question for you guys!  
> Do you like Melody? I'm sure you all know who she IS...  
> Hypotheses on upcoming events?  
> What's your favorite line in this chapter? 
> 
> Next chapter will be mostly fluff and happiness, I promise! We're getting some actual shippy stuff next chapter!!!! FINALLY I CAN END SUFFERING FOR A COUPLE THOUSAND WORDS!!! 
> 
> mmmm..... kay. Hearts. Kisses. 
> 
> BACK TO THE GRINDER!


	16. Purchasing a Television

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not much happens in this chapter; you guys buy a TV. 
> 
> Uhh...
> 
> Merry christmas?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should really stop apologizing for my horrible updating schedule. 
> 
> but. 
> 
> Sorry :(

Perfectly shaped nails, a muted deep brown on the otherwise glistening flawless coal, trailed slowly, meticulously over milk white bone. 

 

“So, you, uhh... You’re, uhh... you got a story to, uhh, tell?” 

 

Tap! 

 

“Ah!” Sans jolted, recoiling slightly from the fingernail that just rapped against his pointer fingers upper phalange. One soft, deep chortle had him warily calming down once more, though. 

 

“The bone made a ‘D,’ and you made a ‘C.’”  And yes, if you wish to hear it,  _ skeleton.”  _

 

“If you’d, uhh, be so inclined...” 

 

Ta-tap! Fingers rapped on bones. Sans swallowed, leaning back in his chair, eye sockets wide at the woman lounging on his table, legs crossed in front of her, meticulously studying his hands. He refused to move them from their place sitting on the desk, frozen. The woman,  _ Melody,  _ would tap on a bone, and a sound that Sans never really paid attention to would ring through the room, accentuated in ways he was sure only she could do. She would then carry it with her own voice for half a second longer, and then inform him of their names, finger movements momentarily transforming into soft caresses. Then: Tik! Tok! 

 

“D, D, D an octave higher, A. I believe you already know my  _ origins,  _ yes?” 

 

Sans didn’t ask for this. 

 

“I’m sure your story wouldn’t be as, ah, a _ mus _ ing without that information, right? Heh-heh.” 

 

Tap! Tap! Tap! Tu-tu-tup! 

 

Sans wasn’t going to stop it.  _ God  _ no, nope. Not stopping whatever magic  _ this  _ was.    
  
“G sharp to G natural, D, F, G. Your bones make quite a useful instrument, wouldn’t you agree?” 

 

“Didn’t know Deathfire’s Grasp was hiding in my bones all along. Heh. That’s a  _ riot.”  _

 

“I don’t understand.” Fingers stopped. Of course they stopped. Sans lamented his shitty joke when Melody’s hand trailed away from his, returning gracefully to her lap, leaving him  _ cold.  _

 

“You wouldn’t... Never mind.” 

 

“You are amusing, small skinless one.” 

 

“Small.... Skinless.... One...?” 

 

“Do you wish to hear my story from when I was one being? Or would you prefer the ripping? Perhaps my fractional adventures post-splinter?” 

 

“Was that a short joke?” 

 

“I’d prefer not to tell you the ripping. It was...” Melody paused, looking up for a moment, deep sapphire eyes now distant, lips pulled tight. “Unpleasant.” 

 

Sans watched the fluttering pain in her eyes, and couldn’t stop the question, regretting it before it even left his mouth. “The ripping?” 

 

Blue eyes flickered down to meet his. A rueful smile. 

 

“You speak of knowledge, but ask in ignorance.” Melody leaned forward, pulling tension tight with her pivoting waist. “Which is it, meat sack minus the meat...” She looked him up and down for a moment, “and the sack.” 

 

Sans couldn’t hold back the snort, snapping whatever tension Melody had just built with her advance on his person. “Clever one.” 

 

“How do you snort without mucus?” 

 

“How do you live in a tuning fork?” 

 

“Ah. So ignorance it is then. Fine.” Melody leaned back, looking at the ceiling for a moment, taking a heavy breath in. Grace faltered for irk, and Sans realized he might have said something wrong. “My corporeality is a construct of convenience in order to properly interact and guide those of lesser existence.” 

 

“Did you just snub me?” 

 

“I’m speaking directly to you, how could that be a snub?” 

 

“You ignored my questio-” 

 

“I am  _ answering  _ your question, teat-sucker.” 

 

“ _ Teat-Sucker _ !?” 

 

“Very strong bones. Moving on, my corporeality pre-rip was completely reliant on my chosen but temporary complete existence in the third dimension, thereby limiting my omniscience and omnipresence, but allowing for more...  _ personal  _ interaction.” 

 

“What does strong bones have to do with-” 

 

“Superfluous amounts of milk. Are you listening to me at all?” 

 

“Yeah, yeah. Something about limiting yourself to the dimensions that we ‘lesser beings’ can comprehend in order to actually talk to us.” 

 

“Huh. So you were. And you understand.” Melody’s annoyance seemed to ebb away rather quickly, morphing into a face that Sans recognized much more. Playful mirth, a streak of competitiveness, a quirked eyebrow. 

 

Zait. And suddenly, this towering, ebony  _ god  _ in front of him seemed so much more approachable. Sans leaned back, letting his lazy smile fall onto his face. “Did you expect me to get lost in big words and fancy jargon?” 

 

“You’d be surprised, boy. I’ve had previous masters  _ weep  _ over the difference between a viola and a violin.” 

 

“Two letters?” 

 

“I hate you....  _ How do you snort like that without mucus?”  _

 

“How do you live in a tuning fork?” 

 

“... You understand up to the corporeal thing, yes?” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“And you probably understand the absolute  _ craftiness  _ of the human race, yes?” 

 

“They hold the trophy for arts and crafts indefinitely.” 

 

“And they fear that they don’t understand.” 

 

“Got a whole life underground to prove that fact.” 

 

“Then you can most likely make the logical jump.” 

 

“Well, yes, but I already  _ knew-”  _

“Do you know why they split me into a  _ hundred  _ pieces?” 

 

“What?” 

 

“A hundred. It’s not just an arbitrary number, you know.” 

 

“I never really thought abou-” 

 

“One more piece, brainless-but-not-mindless. A hundred pieces creates a Me just small enough to be...  _ contained,  _ but still useful. I have access to a hundredth of what should be the nearly limitless knowledge of an omniscient, but have not even an inkling of power to  _ utilize  _ it.” She scoffed, “What is omniscience without omnipresence? What am I but a barely-existent dictionary of musical knowledge, with barely enough power behind my corporeality to affect my surroundings?” 

 

“...”

 

Melody’s face slowly morphed into disdain. “I, a literal  _ God,  _ have been contained and commodified, and am now used  _ solely  _ as...” She paused, scrunching her nose and motioning toward the fork in Sans’s hand. Her voice twisted, turning into something mocking,  _ “a fancy ass fork.”  _

 

“There seems to be some saltiness behind that last statement.” 

 

“My previous master tried to eat every meal with me. They thought using a tuning fork would make you ‘in tune’ with their nobility... Do not laugh at my pain!” 

 

“‘M sorry! ‘M sorry!” Sans snorted again. “But ya’ gotta admit-” 

 

“I don’t ‘gotta’ admit anything! And if you enjoy your room the way it is, I suggest you cease this line of conversation immediately!” Melody frowned, standing up and walking away from Sans, to the center of the room. She looked at the treadmill in the center of the room, and frowned in disgust at the mold that was growing in the corners and over the face. She looked down at the conveyor-belt of the treadmill, which was covered in different items used for stargazing. Her nose scrunched as she looked at the rather expensive looking telescope, apparently disliking how clean it was in comparison to the filth that was the rest of the room. 

 

“What’re ya’ gonna do,  _ sing  _ till the paint peels?” Sans snickered, watching her poke at the telescope. Her eyes shot toward him, gaining a dangerous spark in them. Her finger, which was delicately tracing the lense at the tip of the telescope, stopped its movement, and pressed firmly into the cold metal. If sans had blood, he would have paled. “Don’t you dare!” He warned. She only smirked, pushing on the telescope until it tipped over, careening toward the ground. He was there in an instant, the air where he was before slapping shut with a soft “crack!” as he appeared in time to catch the telescope. He let out a sigh of relief only when the telescope was safely upright again. He felt a hand touch the top of his head, heard Melody’s soft chuckle. 

 

“You are easily frazzled, short one.” 

 

_______________

_______________

 

You made him breakfast. This wasn’t out of the ordinary, no, but something about it  _ now  _ felt special. You looked at the eggs in the pan, the toast already resting on the plate, the little sausage links you had so cheesily lined up into a smiley face, and couldn’t stop smiling yourself. You poured the two sunny-side up eggs onto the plate, finishing up the face, and turned around, looking at the still closed door to his room. 

 

Heh. 

 

Now, it  _ did  _ take you a while getting used to not spending every night downstairs cleaning the bar, but getting to watch Grillby stumble, half-awake, out of his room every morning had made it slightly worth it. 

 

This morning, though, you had other plans. You walked to the door, holding in your blush as you turned the handle and let yourself in as silently as possible. You tiptoed across the well-lit room, and finally seated yourself on the mostly-unoccupied half of his bed. You placed the plate down on the bedside table, and quickly reached out, tapping the square light-up box that rested next to the plate. The numbers on the face blinked warningly at you. 

 

5:59. You knew that the moment it hit 6:00, the infernal box would start screaming. You just had to find the thing that Grillby did every morning to stop it’s screaming You had rushed in quite a few times when the noise began, frantically asking if Grillby was okay, only to watch him groggily reach for that light up cube and switch something on the-there it is! You flicked the switch on what Grillby called his “alarm clock,” and quickly turned your attention to Grillby. He never slept under the covers, even though he had them, so you could easily see his... bare... chest rising and falling with each of his sleeping breaths. You couldn’t help it; you reached out a hand, and touched his shoulder, your  fingers lightly trailing across the defined muscles and dark scars. He shifted under your grasp, and turned to face you, flames flickering erratically for a few moments as they got used to his new conscious state. You smiled as they licked at your fingers harmlessly. 

 

“Good morning,” he greeted you, voice heavy with sleep and affection. It made your heart jump, your tether tug. Your smile widened, and you shifted a bit. His hand came up from by his side, and fell lightly on top of yours, keeping your hand on his shoulder. 

 

“Good morning,” you replied, shifting your hand till you could entwine your fingers with his. Wow, this was... You swallowed. This was a lot more emotional than you were expecting it to be. He squeezed your hand, pulling it from his shoulder to his lips, and you lost all cognitive function. “uhh..I.... Breakfast-” You motioned awkwardly to the waiting plate, and was rewarded with a smile pressed to the back of your hand. 

 

“This is a much better way to wake up than an alarm clock,” he commented, sitting up. You grinned; mission accomplished! You reached behind you, grabbing the plate and handing it to him. He chuckled at the smiling face that looked up at him, took the plate from you, and then paused, staring at the food. You watched him stare at the food for a couple of moments, wondering why he wasn’t-

 

A fork! You forgot a fork! 

 

You made a strangled noise, yanking away from him and scrambling out of the room, returning rather quickly with an eating utensil. He laughed again, taking the fork from your hand and immediately stabbing the eyes of the smiley face eggs. You watched as the yolk poured out of their confines and drenched the rest of the plate. Soft “clicks” tapped through the room as Grillby cut up the eggs and ate. After a couple bites, his fork paused, and he spoke. “Should we get a TV?”

 

You watched the yolk as it continued its journey across the plate, slowly encroaching on the sausage smiley face. Grillby caught your attention with your name, and you blinked. “What’s a TV?” 

 

“Mmm...” Grillby nodded for a moment, cutting one of the sausages with his fork, spearing it, and lifting it to his mouth. THe yolk was millimeters away from the remaining sausage. “It’s a portable city crier.” Grillby’s finger reached for the second sausage on the plate, and nonchalantly moved it away from the encroaching yolk. You let out a baited breath you didn’t even know you were holding. 

 

“So, news from around the town?” 

 

“And other things. It may be good for the bar.” Grillby stabbed the second half of the sausage. 

 

“Why not?” You shrugged. Grillby looked at you for a moment, and then scooted over on the bed, patting the newly opened area next to him. You obliged, pulling yourself to his side and leaning into his shoulder. He hummed in approval, and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. You smiled. 

 

“Today?” He inquired, finishing the second sausage in just one bite. 

 

“Sure,” you replied, wedging your feet under his legs, and sighing at the warmth. He chuckled, finishing off the eggs, and then wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer and nuzzling into your hair. 

 

“Thanks for breakfast.” He murmured; you blushed, shifting a little and smiling. You tilted your head toward him, and he quickly stole your lips in a soft kiss. When he pulled away half a second later, you followed him, kissing him a second time. He hummed; you heard the soft clatter of him putting the plate aside, but you paid it no mind as both his hands now cupped your neck, and he tilted your head backward, his lips pressing into yours with insistence. You melted in his grasp, your hands reaching upward and pressed flat against his burly chest. He broke the kiss after a while, pulling back only enough to look at your flushed face. You looked him up and down; His visible eyes were burning brighter than you’d ever seen, and his chest was rising and falling visibly. His hands trailed from the back of your head down your neck and across your clavicle, stopping when his hands reached the hem of your pajama shirt. 

 

You swallowed as his fingers pinched the soft fabric of your neckline, and pulled slightly, revealing more of your neck. He paused for a moment, and then shifted, easily throwing a leg over yours, kneeling over you, arms planted on either side of your head.  His breath washed over your face, then your ear as he lowered his face, eventually pressing his lips to neck. 

 

It was soft, fleeting, barely even a warm butterflies touch to your exposed skin, but the heat that blossomed from that area and spread across your skin was undeniable. You felt it quickly pool between your legs, and you froze. Sensing your tensed muscles, Grillby paused, pulling his lips from your neck and looking at you. 

 

You swallowed. “G-grillby, I’ve never...” You started, looking anywhere but him, hands opening and closing against his chest. You weren't sure if you should push him away or not. He hovered stark still above you for a moment before he moved again, this time toward your face. He pressed his lips to the side of your mouth, then your jawline, and then finally right in front of your ear. You were trembling. 

 

“I can show you...” He growled, his hot breath washing over your ear; you nearly mewled. 

 

“I-... I....” You stammered, shifting under him. He stayed still, obviously waiting for your okay to continue, each of his breaths in your ear making your thoughts less and less clear. 

 

Your heart hammered in your ears, and you swallowed. Your chest hurt, and your breaths seemed shallow. You had never done anything like this before... Sure, you had heard Gosren and Gerson late at night, and you had felt your fair share of horribly embarrassing pleasure through the tie, but  _ this  _ was so...  _ different.  _

 

For one thing, the feelings you received through the tie with Gosren were  _ never  _ of... a  _ receiving  _ quality. Also, you remember  _ her  _ first time...  _ their  _ first time, and it was...

 

“I- I don’t think I can...” You stammered, finally lightly pushing Grillby away. He resisted for a second, and then leaned backward, kneeling above your thighs. You looked away in guilt, face hot. You felt his hand grab yours, though, and you looked back. He pulled it to his lips, and lightly kissed your knuckles. 

 

“It’s okay.” he said, kissing your hand again, this time the tips of your fingers. 

 

“I’ve just- I’ve never-” 

 

“It’s okay.” He pressed his mouth against the palm of your hand.

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

“It’s okay.” You felt him smile against your palm, and you couldn’t stop your own smile from pulling at your lips. 

 

“... Thank you.” 

 

“Mmhmm.” He said, moving away from on top of you, and standing next to the bed. You sat up, and looked around, still feeling guilty. Sunlight poured through the window; you chuckled. 

 

“A little late for watching the sunrise,” you lamely commented. Grillby hummed in agreement, and then meandered toward the closet. He slid the doors open, and stared at the selection of clothing. You stood as well, following him toward the closet, reaching him when he finally made a selection, pulling out a T-shirt, and turning toward you, holding the hanger in front of his chest. 

 

“What do you think?” He asked. The shirt seemed rather pristine, as if it were never worn, but the writing on the front was what got you. The shirt read, in fiery letters, ‘A Hunk of Hunk of Burnin Love.” You snorted, then burst into laughter, hugging your waist. 

 

“Hahah! Is that! Some sort of reference?” You asked through fits of giggles. The gasp of betrayal that came from Grillby had you looking up. He quickly threw the shirt on, and then leaned toward you, grabbing you by your waist and tossing you over his shoulder. You squealed in protest, but he didn’t respond, rather stomping out of the bedroom, across the house, and down the stairs. 

 

You heard the stair squeak as he stomped down to the kitchen; He reached the bottom of the staircase, and in two bounding steps, slammed through the kitchen doors and into the bar-area. Zait, who had been resting on counter-top, jumped a good foot into the air, and quickly pivoted to see the two of you; You were in just a nightgown, and Grillby was in sweatpants and that  _ amazing  _ shirt. Zait blinked a few times in confusion. 

 

“You’re a little late coming down today.” 

 

“She doesn’t know the song.” Grillby motioned toward his shirt with the hand that wasn’t securing you over his shoulder. 

 

“Well ain’t that a fuckin’ crime?” Zait sounded absolutely appalled. You shifted in Grillby’s arm, looking over at Zait as she shook her head with a chuckle. “You want Elvis or Lilo?” Oh, so it was an Elvis song. You remember Elvis from your music lessons. But...

 

“Whose Lilo?” You questioned, surprisingly at the same time as Grillby. Zait’s eyes grew to the size of saucers, and she slapped her face. 

 

“Grillby no, not you too...” She whined, dramatically covering her mouth and looking at the ceiling as if holding back tears. “We need a TV, like, yesterday.” 

 

“We’re getting it today, once you show her the song.” 

 

“Wait really?” Zait perked up, “You’re actually getting a TV?” 

 

“After the song.” 

 

“Yeah! Yeah!” Almost immediately, the beginning of your soon-to-be-new-favorite song blasted from the speakers. 

 

____________________

____________________

 

“No Monsters Allowed.” 

 

You blinked, staring at the door for a moment. This store... Less than a month ago, you and Grillby had been at this store purchasing new glasses for the bar, and now... The sign made you physically sick, and you looked up at Grillby. The color of his flames were sickly to say the least, and his shoulders were tight. 

 

“We can go somewhere else,” you assured him, taking his hand and lightly tugging him away from the door. He resisted, but followed, his hand clutching yours like you’d never felt it before. 

 

Three stores later, after lamenting about the signs “popping up overnight,” you finally found one without the horrid sign. A little home-owned shop, nearly 4 miles from where you originally got your clothing. You pulled Grillby inside, and immediately noticed the difference from the previous store. 

 

For one, it held no clothing. Huh. Odd. For two, it was small. It didn’t look like it was struggling; the products on the racks and the area that held a minimal selection of TV’s and furniture all held top-of-the-line wares, but everything was crammed close together. Three, there was not a light in sight. Only candles and lanterns. It was odd, looking at the fire-lit store in a world that was brimming with “lamps” and other magical, unexplained lighting sources. It felt... homey... though. 

 

“Welcome to Alleyway-Oh!” You turned at the sound of a deep voice. Standing behind a counter was a dark skinned woman that looked around 50 years old. “Well I haven’t seen one of you for a couple of days! I thought you’d all had given up travelling past the line.” She smiled, but there was a tight grimace behind her upward pulled lips. “I’m sorry you are all... It’s just not right, if you ask me. Nice to see some humans are still on the side of equality, though!” She winked at you. Grillby, who was previously eerily quiet, finally looked up. 

 

“The line?” He asked, and the woman let out a sigh. 

 

“Y'all don’t get the news? It’s been nearly a month since the President announced the containment initiative.” When neither of you gave her any hint of understanding, she continued. “Stores now have the right to turn away business from monsters, and permits for land-owning by monsters has been banned.” Grillby tensed. “Prez is trying to stop monsters from expanding.” She looked down with a scowl, “I didn’t think I’d ever see signs like that in my lifetime. I thought all that was over, and yet here we are... History sure does repeat itself.” You looked at Grillby. It was like he’d just seen a ghost, with how dim his flames were. His shoulders were limp, his head drooping down. The woman sighed, and then motioned toward the store. “Our family doesn’t believe in that shit-I mean stuff, though. There’s been enough discrimination in the past to last forever. We are  _ not  _ adding on to it. You’re welcome here for as long as my doors are open!” She smiled toward Grillby again, but it quickly fell from her lips when she saw his demeanor. 

 

“We’ll, uhh.. We’ll be out of your hair soon,” You spoke for Grillby, trying to lead him to the TV section (following the “TV’s!” sign). Looking through the TV’s was no easy matter; you had no idea what any of the fancy jargon meant, and Grillby seemed too subdued to help. You finally just picked a big, fancy looking one that was mounted to the wall, and stuck with it. At your selection, the woman gave you a soft smile, and stepped into the back room, returning with a large box. Grillby pulled out his wallet, and money was exchanged. 

 

“These guys are pretty easy to operate; just connect this,” she motioned to the only wire sticking out of the back of the large black box, “to the _ energy source,  _ and it’ll do the rest.” She said simply, but her voice croaked in disgust a bit at ‘energy source.’ 

 

“Energy source?” You asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion. The woman looked at you, deadpan for a moment, before she frowned. 

 

“Look,  _ ma’am,  _ if you’re going to mock my and my family’s choices, despite your  _ affiliation,  _ I may have to rescind my invitation into my store. I thought  _ you,  _ of all people, would at least understand my standing.” She glared at you, nearly spitting her words at your face. Grillby twitched at this, his arm reaching out and separating you from the woman. He took a step forward, towering over her sitting form. She didn’t recoil, instead turning her infuriated gaze toward him. “Hypocrite!” She spat, crossing her arms. Grillby flared angrily, but you put a hand on his side. He paused, looking down at you; you shook your head. Something about her words struck a chord with you. Something reminiscent of...  _ Toriel,  _ actually. Toriel from nearly a millennium ago.  The woman in front of you was burning with  _ righteous fury,  _ and you needed to know why. Grillby hesitated, looking down at you in confusion. You patted his side, and looked at the woman. 

 

“I, uhh... I don’t think I understand what you’re... uhh...” You hesitated when the woman’s fiery glare fell back on you, but pushed forward anyway. You pushed your hair behind your ears, looking away for a moment when the woman gasped. 

 

“Holy  _ shit,”  _ she breathed, “How are you...” Her words seemed to get caught in her throat, and she started again, hissing, pointing at your ears,“you’re a silky!” 

 

You nodded. She breathed out a few more curses, and then mumbled, “of course! Of  _ course!  _ That’s why you’re so confused! You're not  _ human!”  _ She stopped talking, looking at you, then at Grillby, then at the counter, confused, shocked, but also... contemplating? 

 

“Umm,” you started again, but she interrupted you. 

 

“How are you with  _ him?”  _ She motioned toward Grillby with her head, and you recoiled, mildly offended. She saw the offense painted on your face, and held out her hands, “No, I mean, I mean!” She took a breath to calm herself a bit, “You’re a  _ fucking silky!  _ I thought there were only like, 5 left of you in the entire world!” 

 

_ “Excuse you?”  _ You spluttered, “Five of us? I’ll have you know that Silkies are as bountiful as milkmen!” 

 

“Oh honey, what rock have  _ you  _ been stuck under?” 

 

“That’s none of your business,” Grillby stepped in, placing his whole body between you and the woman now. The woman looked at him, and then at you, and let out a sigh. 

 

“Fine. But... Look.” She pulled out a small card, and held it out to Grillby. He didn’t take it, instead glaring her down. She sighed, wiggling it in the air. “Just take it. If you’re ever in trouble, call the number, alright? It’s a sick world, and in the next coming months, it’s only gonna get sicker.” 

 

Grillby looked her up and down, wondering if he could trust this black-haired woman, and finally took the card, handing it to you. She nodded as you touched the TV, and let your grey magic whisk it home. Grillby took your hand, pulling you out the door. You looked back at the woman, and she gave you a soft wave. 

 

“Watch some news on that thing, too. It might do you some good.” She winked. 

 

As Grillby dragged you down the street, obviously nonplussed about the whole interaction with the woman, you looked at the card. On the front was a symbol, a black and white lineart of of a chimera battling snake-like chains, and a phone number perfectly printed underneath. You flipped it over. The other side was blank, except for one small black bird placed in the middle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments keep me alive! 
> 
> We're nearing... stuff... And I most definitely need cheering on to, ah, actually write out what I have planned...


	17. A buzz and a Boom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerson is visited. 
> 
> There's Abuelitas in here. And a Long Island Iced Tea. 
> 
> And PLOT!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. So I'm going to apologize immediately about how long it took. It's probably been, what. A Year? Fuck. 
> 
>  
> 
> SO I think what happened is I started writing too many fictions at once. So instead, I'm going to focus on only 2 fictions at a time, so I can focus more clearly on them, and so I don't get burnt out on one or the other. So I'm gonna do this one and Groundhog Day. Then I'll finish the other two. 
> 
> I have nothing but apologies. I'm shitty. Sorry.

“So what do you think she meant by ‘energy source?’” You asked, watching Grillby mount the TV in the corner of the restaurant. You’re sitting at the bar a couple hours before opening, an untouched glass of green liquid in front of you.

Sitting next to you is the little yellow dinosaur who you’ve met only a few times before, staring at her own green drink in trepidation. On the other side of you is Undyne, whose name you are pretty sure you’ll never forget. You’ve been watching her systematically down 3 glasses of the “POST WORKOUT SUPER SMOOTHIE” she had forced Grillby to make. 

“Maybe we just need to PUNCH IT!” Undyne cheers, raising her fourth glass to the air. 

“No.” Grillby stated flatly, putting in the last bolt and finally releasing the TV. It hung in the air, the cord hanging from the bottom, the singular spike mocking everyone’s lack of knowledge.

“It probably needs an Elemental,” Zait supplied, tapping on the cord. It swung back and forth for a few moments, “That’s how humans power pretty much everything nowadays.” 

You balked. Undyne balked. Even Grillby balked, but Zait just shrugged, “It’s been like that since The Farms began. Not like we can change it.” 

“I’m sure there’s a different way we can supply energy to it,” You offered, staring at the little spike swinging through the air in disgust, “The Underground had power, didn’t it?” 

“Yeah, but we used The Core to power our shit,” Undyne slammed her fourth glass down, now empty, “I think Alphys is almost done with wiring The Core to Aboveground; if you want, I can ask if she can include your place in the wiring?” 

Grillby turned to Undyne and gave her a curt not. You smiled, remembering Grillby’s explanation of The Core on a cold, rainy morning. “That would be helpful.” 

“ALRIGHT!” Undyne nearly screamed, jumping out of the chair and sprinting out of the bar. You watched the Undyne-shaped-dust trail she left behind slowly dissipate, and looked at Grillby, who shrugged. He retreated behind the bar, pulling out some milk, honey, and cinnamon. You watched him mix the three together, heat it up, and hand one glass to you, one to Zait. You both smiled. 

It was odd, normally when Undyne was in your bar, the entire place buzzed with excited energy and jubilant shouts, but today was different. When you and Grillby had returned home from your shopping excursion, Undyne sat outside the doors with a distant look on her face. Her shirt had a healthy wet-spot near her neckline, and her scales shimmered with sweat. Her chest rose up and down rather slowly as you walked toward her, and you couldn’t help but admire the peaceful expression on her face as she looked up at the white puffs in the blue sky. She only noticed you two when Grillby let out a small cough to get her attention, and she had greeted him with a soft wave and a grin. 

When you had asked her what had her so peaceful, she just smiled wider. 

“Something about the sky just gives you hope, ya know?” she had said, looking at the sky again, “It’s like it’s telling me that, despite our hardships now, things are gonna be okay...” Undyne shoved her hands in her pockets, and you saw her left hand twiddle with something in there, “I feel like I know there’s gonna be a fight in the future... The Humans are gonna try and put us back under there, but I just...” She laughed, one quick burst, and pulled her hands out of her pockets, “I just feel like this time is gonna be different! Somehow. I have so much hope. I can’t even explain it.” 

You had laughed, and placed a hand on her elbow, smiling up at her. “That’s a lot of smart words coming from you. Where did Undyne go?” 

“Probably 3 blocks back,” Undyne had motioned toward the streets, “She’ll be here eventually. Grillby! You should make me a POST WORKOUT SUPER SMOOTHIE!!!”

You glanced down at your cinnamon honey milk, and took a generous sip. It warmed you to your core, and you smiled up at Grillby. He nodded, finally speaking, “So I’m gonna re-open the bar tomorrow. Is there anything you wanted to do tonight before that happens? You’ve got me all night long.” 

You shook me all night long began playing quietly in the background, and Zait got a few quick shots of fire in her face. You giggled, sipping at your drink. Was there something you wanted to do with Grillby? You thought for a couple of moments, trying to think if there was anything you needed or wanted to do, and a familiar face quickly flashed in your mind. 

“Actually,” you started hesitantly, “I think I’d like to see Gerson.” Grillby’s flames died down almost immediately, and the way his chin dipped told you he didn’t approve. You kept going, “I know he said some things that were really insensitive, but he’s still Gosren’s husband, and I...” You felt your heart thudding in your chest a little bit, and you took a breath to calm it, “Despite what I said when I kicked him out, I don’t want him out of my life. We have a lot of memories together, and I would like to pay proper respects to Gosren.” 

“Grieving over her death for 700 years isn’t enough respect?” Grillby nearly spat, and you recoiled, frowning. 

“Okay ouch,” you said, parroting a phrase you had heard Zait say before, “I just think... I want proper... closure?” 

The bar fell silent as you stared guiltily at Grillby, and he seemed to ponder your statement. Finally, Grillby let out a quick sigh, little embers erupting from his mouth and dissipating not 3 inches from his face. “I won’t stop you, but I don’t fully approve.” 

“He’s a good guy, though” you started.

“Hn.” Grillby put his and your now finished glass in the sink. He motioned toward Zait’s, but she declined, still sipping at hers. 

“Besides having some insensitive comments, he’s only been good to me and Gosren.” 

“He made you ragingly angry.” 

“I’ve calmed down now.” 

“He made you cry.” 

“Those were mostly relieved tears.” 

“He’s from Waterfall.” 

“Are you jealous?” 

“Oh burn,” Zait said offhandedly, smirking into her mug. Grillby’s flames jumped for a second before he quickly shook his head. 

It was very unconvincing. You smiled, leaning over the bar and tapping his side. He looked at you. You motioned for him to come closer, and when he obliged, you placed a soft kiss on his cheek. The way the flames on his head flared at that made you smile, and you said quietly, “You’re the only one for me, darling.” 

“Darling...” Grillby repeated quietly, and a sudden bout of anxiety had you pulling back. 

“Oh my, did I use another out-dated term?” 

“It’s a little outdated,” Zait provided at the same time that Grillby turned to you and quickly snapped a, “not at all!” You looked between the two, wondering which one was it, and was nearly swept away as Grillby grabbed either side of your face and planted a warm kiss on your lips. Your heart soared for a moment as he pulled away, hovering about an inch from your face, pressing his forehead to yours. 

“You can call me whatever you want.” he spoke softly. You swooned, a bright blush overtaking your face as he touched his nose to yours for a moment, and then pulled away. 

When you looked at Zait, she was mouthing the words, “Out. Dated” with a snarky grin. 

“Let me change into a different shirt before we go, though,” grillby said, motioning toward his current choice in attire, “A Hunka Hunka Burning Love” still plastered on his chest. You stifled a giggle, and nodded. He was quick to disappear through the door. 

“Call him babe,” Zait instantly offered; you turned to her with a raised eyebrow, “Or honey. Sweets. Or sexy. Yeah. He’ll love that” She looked like she was having fun, a wicked grin telling you that you should definitely NOT call him any of those things. 

“Grillbae works too,” a voice called from next to you, and if Sans hadn’t done this to you nearly a hundred times before this day, you would have shrieked and smashed him with a frying pan (You always missed the times before). Instead, you jumped slightly, and turned on him with a wicked glare. He shrugged, a soft smirk tickling his teeth. “Just sayin’. Whatcha doin’ today?” 

“Grillby and I are going out in a little bit.”

“GrillBAE.” Sans corrected. Your glare intensified. So did his smile. 

“Grillby.” 

“Suit yourself.” 

“What about you? What are you doing here?” You questioned, jabbing a finger in his direction accusingly. 

He chuckled, holding up his hands, “I can’t come talk to my favorite ladies?” He waggled his eyebrow at you, leaning forward. You backed up a bit, a soft blush tickling your cheeks. 

A bolt of fire blasted into the side of Sans’s face harmlessly, but it seemed to scare the skeleton nonetheless, and he flailed a bit, turning to the kitchen door. Grillby had a finger pointed at him and a “no nonsense” look on his face. This only made Sans calm down with a chuckle, “Nah, nah I’m here for Zait.” 

“Oh?” You looked at Zait with a raised eyebrow, a smile of your own tickling your lips, but the look on her face quickly melted it away. She didn’t look happy. She looked... guilty? Filled with regret? 

You didn’t like that look on her, and took a step forward to place a hand on her shoulder, but just as quickly as the emotions were on her face, they were gone. She smiled, looking at Sans with an eyebrow waggle of her own, “Oh you came for this jazzy little girl? What do I owe the honor?” 

You backed down; you’d bring it up on another day. Sans just smiled wider, and slipped his hands into his pockets. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” 

“Should we go?” Grillby interjected, stepping around the bar and falling in place next to you. You looked up at him, noting his choice in attire with a small blush. He was wearing a grey v-neck that hugged every curve of his biceps. Oof. 

“Nah” Sans replied. 

“Yes,” Zait interjected, floating over and sitting next to Sans, looking at you with some sort of pleading in her eye. Well. If she didn’t want you there when she... you guessed... turned down Sans (???)... then who are you to stick around? You took Grillby by the elbow, and the flaming man next to took the hint, leading you to the door. 

You paused at the threshold as the magic in your chest tugged you back like a choker on your soul. Grillby paused, looking back at you inquisitively. You blushed, looking at the ground, “Sorry, I must have forgotten for a moment... I can’t leave without a duty to do...” 

Grillby flared up for a moment, and then looked at the ceiling. A second later, “Gerson sells Sea-Tea, and it has been getting hot lately... Would you accompany me to go get some?” 

And with that, the pull dissipated. You smiled, nodded, and the two of you were off, the door clicking shut behind you. 

“Sans, I already told you I’m not in the position to date,” Zait immediately started with a frown, “Why are you here?” 

“I can’t hang out with a gorgeous lady?” 

“Not with intentions.” 

Sans paused, his smile faltering for a moment before he pulled out the tuning fork and placed it on the table. “Good thing I’m not here to try and court a pretty lady, then.” 

Zait looked at the fork for a couple of moments, and then up at Sans’s face. Finally, “oh... Sorry for... assuming.” 

“S’fine.” 

“Did you... figure anything out?” 

“Yup.” 

“... are... you gonna tell me?” 

“Yup.” 

“... now please?” 

“Ok.” 

“....”

“...”

“...Sans.” 

“Heh. Sorry. Wanted to see you sweat for a moment.” He shrugged, tapping on the table next to the fork for a few moments, “it wasn’t so hard to figure out what it was once I did an... eh... experiment.” He motioned toward the fork, “But I guess you’re one hundredth closer to being whole.” 

Zait’s eyes grew wide, and her hand shot forward to grab the fork, but stopped short by a millimeter. She stared at it, a weight tight in her chest. “Are.. Are you sure?” 

“Her name is Melody. Kinda ironic considering that the skill she possesses is related to key signatures...” 

“Like mine is tempo...” Zait breathed, staring at the fork in wonder, still not touching it. “Is she... like me?” 

“You could meet her.” Sans suggested, placing a hand on the fork and pulling out a small towel from his pocket. “It’s really simple.” 

Zait let out a huff of air, pulling her hand away from the fork. She hesitated, staring intently at the polished silver, before finally sighing, “No... no. I don’t know what would happen if I did. I’m not... I don’t think I’m ready.” 

Sans blinked. Blinked again. “But,” He started, frowning now, “But this is you! You have every right to have it! And what if.. What if having you both in the same place somehow breaks you both free from your prisons!?” 

“I know I know! It’s just... is it really me anymore?” Zait stared at Sans, her face struck with grief. “What if Melody has her own stories, her own life, her own loves? What if She comes out of the fork and I just suck her up and she’s gone? Can I really put my freedom in front of someone else’s life?” Zait wrapped her arms around her middle, speaking faster, closing her eyes. “Or what if, when you call her here, we both just get sucked up and combined, and the person who is born from it isn’t me OR her? What if combining with my other parts is just going to be 99 deaths, one after another?” 

“Hey hey!” Sans placed the fork down carefully and placed a comforting hand on Zait’s knee, “It’s okay. I’m not forcing you to do anything! I just thought, since it’s safe, that you should have it...” 

“I don’t want it...” Zait practically whispered, “Not... not yet... I have to think about this.” 

“I just wanted to help.” 

“I know.” 

“I’ll keep holding onto it.” 

“Okay... Thanks.” 

“No problem... You know I’m here for you, right?” 

“Yeah.. I know.” 

“Both of you.” 

“Heh...” 

“But seriously, Zait.” Sans squeezed Zait’s knee, and she looked up at him. “I’m here. If you need me. Just play some bone-themed song, and I’ll be here in two shakes of a lambs tail.” 

“That’s a really lame saying.” 

“I knew you’d say that.” 

“Heh...” Zait looked away, a wry smile locked on her face. Sans coughed, finally removing his hand with a small blush. They sat there for a couple moments, Sans staring at the fork, Zait her half-filled mug of milk. 

“Can I at least tell you about her?” 

“I don’t know...” 

“I think it’ll help you think.” Sans tapped his fingers on the bartop, a “ta-ta-ta-tup, ta-ta-ta-tump.” Zait watched his fingers for a couple of moments, wondering when he had started doing that. 

Finally, she took a deep breath. “Alright.”

“She’s taller than you.” 

“Oh?” 

“By at least 2 feet, I think. She makes me feel like a midget.” 

“You already are.” 

“Yeah but she makes me FEEL like it. Along with many other things. One of which is inferiority.” 

“YOU? Inferior to a god? Who'da Thunk it!?” 

“I can just go.” 

“... Please continue...”

_________________  
_________________

As you and Grillby walked down the street, you were greeted by quite a few monsters. You were proud of yourself when you found you could easily respond to them. A soft smile here, a wave there, a “NO TOOTH I’M TRYING TO GET SOMEWHERE PLEASE STOP EATING ME” at some point in time. You realized that, while most of these monsters were seemingly just regulars at Grillby’s, you still considered them all... friends. It warmed your heart, and based on the prideful glow Grillby was radiating, it warmed his too. It was a rather quick walk to Gerson’s little shop, and the jingle of the door as it opened made you smile. 

“Ha ha ha! Welcome to Ger- oh.” Gerson looked up at the pair of you, and his smile faded slightly, but only for a second. Moments later, he seemed to put a few pieces together, and you saw a form of hope bloom in his face. “Yer here!” He scrambled to his feet, rushing over, just barely avoiding stumbling over the wares scattered about the store. 

“I’m here,” you provided with a hesitant smile. He stopped a few feet from you, twisting his hands together with a grimace. 

“I’m... err... I’m sorry fer, y’know.” He looked at you with a thousand pounds of guilt in his eyes. You let out a soft sigh, closing the distance between the two of you and placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“I know.” 

“She loved ya’ very much, ya’ know.” He spoke a bit quicker, relief washing over his face. 

“I know.” You smiled, taking a moment to glance around the shop. It made you chuckle; he was just as disorderly as you remembered him; more stuff was scattered in piles next to the walls than on the actual shelves, but everything looked pristinely cared for. Organized chaos. You wouldn’t have it any other way. “I see she rubbed off on you.” You motioned around the shop, eliciting a deep, hearty chuckle from your tortoise friend. 

“Wa ha ha!” He leaned back, looking around the shop in fondness, “I guess she did, din’t she? I’m surprised you were always able to keep that house clean, what with her running around like a 5-year-old whirlwind!” 

“It was definitely a task!” you laughed, turning back for a moment to give a smile to Grillby. He looked amused, flames flickering wildly as he leaned against the door-frame. Your grin widened. “Gosren was always pulling things out from their shelves and messing around with them when she was bored-”

 

“And she never put them back!” Gerson completed your sentence with a laugh, turning around and walking to the other side of the little desk at the other side of the shop. You followed, your eyes trailing across the walls and wares until they stopped in the corner, where a small round table was set, surrounded by half-melted candles and a small pile of letters. Sitting on the table, the bottom part probably stuck to it with how much wax had melted across the table’s surface, was an ancient painting of Gosren, her eyes sparkling like the first day you met her. You walked toward it, shuffling forward till you could place soft fingers on the edges of the picture frame. 

You hadn’t seen her in.... so long. 

“That was the painting I had done when I enlisted, so I wouldn’t ever forg-” 

“I remember,” you cut Gerson off, brushing a finger down the side of the frame. You could almost see that day, when Toriel offered to pain Gosren for her husband, about a week before he left. “She had laughed so much about not being able to sit completely still,” you trailed, lifting a finger to lightly touch the glass that separated the old painting from the damaging air. You felt your left side get warmer; Grillby stood silently for a moment, and then placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. You rested your own hand over his. “I can’t believe it lasted this long...” 

“I took good care of it!” Gerson spoke from your right side. “Had it magically reinforced, an’ kept it sealed away. Having no sun ta damage it helped too.” 

“Heh.” 

“The letters are from people who remembered her. I kept ‘em all. I even have a little note pad so people can write letters whenever they want. She touched a lot of people yannow...” You felt him shuffle a bit behind you, and felt your heart swell. You wanted to leave a note of your own. 

“Can I... Would you mind if I...” 

“Not at all.” Gerson chuckled. You heard him pause for a moment, heard him shuffle, then felt both him and Grillby walk away. It was only when you heard the opening and shutting of a door in the back of the store that you finally began searching for the notepad and quill. 

Ah. 

There it was. 

...

Ah. 

You guess a pen will do. 

...

To Gossy,

_______________  
_______________

“Yer dating ‘er, ain’cha?” 

“I!” Grillby flared up, shooting a surprised look at Gerson the moment the door shut. Gerson only laughed. 

“Ya’ can’t keep anything a secret from these old eyes! Wa ha ha!” 

“I.. Wasn’t trying...” Grillby countered hesitantly, looking around the back room. It appeared to be a small kitchenette with a bed set up in the corner. Perfect for an old turtle like Gerson. 

“‘Ave ya’ laid her yet?” 

“Gerson!” Grillby snapped, flames nearly touching the ceiling. 

“Wa ha ha! I’m only asking!” Gerson held up his hands defensively, only lowering them when Grillby’s flames lowered as well. “Don’t deny an old monster his pleasures.” 

“I’m nearly as old as you, you old fart.” 

“Wa ha ha! That ya are, friend! That ya are!” Gerson chuckled lightheartedly, walking over to the bed and sitting down with a weighted sigh. The room lapsed into silence, Grillby standing near the little stove, Gerson staring off into nothing. Finally, Gerson looked up at Grillby, his face pulled into a grimace, “Yannow, I was really surprised when I saw her that first time.” 

“Hn?” Grillby glanced over at Gerson, tilting his head to the side at the misplaced facial expression on the tortious. 

“Toriel... well. She told me what ‘Garrison’ was like near the end of tha war... I never got ta see it, but... well...” Gerson trailed off, sighing for a moment. “I heard she was a veritable demon, to be honest. A mere shell of her former self, Queeney said.” 

“Her letters near the end were always... short.” Grillby supplied, looking up at the ceiling.

“Ya must really mean something ta her, for her change back so quickly,” Gerson laughed hollowly, looking at Grillby. When Grillby returned the gaze, something in Gerson’s eyes made him pause. The grimace, the long, unending stare. It sent a cold chill down Grillby’s spine. 

“She... was already like that when we met,” Grillby provided, uneasiness settling on his soul. “A bit... jumpy, but not angry or hateful.” 

“How odd... Have ya taken a look at her soul?” Gerson asked, and when Grillby burst into bright blue, quickly restated, “I mean! Outside a’ tha bedroom sense!” 

Grillby took a moment to cool down before answering. “...Once. She was... Grey.” 

“That’s common for mythological creatures.” 

“Not an inch of malice. Not an ounce of LOVE.” When Grillby said this, he watched the surprise hit Gerson like a pound of bricks, and then confusion, and then puzzlement, frustration, consternation, and then... unease. 

It matched his own soul. 

LOVE doesn’t just go away. 

Grillby suddenly remembered the tether: the dark, swirling black hole that ate away at your chest, threatening to suck you up if it weren’t for that grey magic surrounding it. Was that the LOVE? Could LOVE be solidified like that, pulled out of the soul and used as a weapon against the very person it was created from? 

Were you always at the precipice of being consumed by a black hole created by the weight of your own sins? 

He shuddered, looking at Gerson again, who seemed to be just as uneasy as himself. 

“She has this... black...” 

“Ah’ve seen it.” 

“Do you think that could be-” 

“I don’t wanna make assumptions. I just wanted to be sure ya knew what ya were gettin’ inta.” 

“... Thank you.” 

“Wa ha.. Ha... No problem... Ya should get back in there though, she’s probably done.” 

“...Thank you.” 

“Come back anytime! The Sea Tea you probably want is on the shelf. Take what ya need. I’ll be expectin’ a free drink next time I come in.” 

“Understood.” 

“Be careful out there.” 

_____________________  
_____________________

“So he just gave it to you for free, huh?” Zait asked with a waggle of her eyebrows as the two of you sat at the bar, Grillby on the other side heating up some mugs of milk in his hands. Grillby nodded, reaching down under the counter and grabbing a plethora of ingredients. 

Chocolate.

Vanilla. 

Cinnamon. 

Cayenne Pepper. 

“Oh I know that! It’s mexican hot chocolate!” Zait provided, leaning forward with excitement as Grillby placed the two mugs in front of you. You glanced at the hot chocolate with wonder; there seemed to be a lighter colored film over the liquid, and you couldn’t resist touching it lightly with your finger. When you pulled your finger away, it clung to your skin like a soft, delicious looking foam. You licked it off, revelling in the soul-warming taste. 

“It’s delicious!” You beamed, lifting the cup excitedly to your lips and taking a big gul- “Ah! It’s hot!” 

“It has to be to melt the chocolate,” Zait laughed, dipping the tip of her own pinky into the drink, “One of my old masters loved this drink, but he made it with these little round bricks instead of from scratch.” She licked her finger, her eyes lighting up, “It wasn’t as delicious as this tastes. I can see why he always complained about how it wasn’t like how his mama made it.” 

“I love it!!!” You gushed, blowing on the cup over and over, hoping it would cool down quicker. It tasted like love! You felt a warm hand rest on the top of your head, and you looked up to beam at Grillby, who flickered in pride. “So are we opening the bar today?” You questioned, feeling excited about seeing everyone after quite a few days without having the bar open. When Grillby nodded, you felt jitters dance up your spine, and you couldn’t help but bounce up, making sure the bar was spick and span for the opening. You elected to ignore Grillby’s chuckles as he checked and double checked his drink supply. 

It was only a couple of hours before the doors were opened, and the first guests began trickling in. Most immediately noticed the new TV, and had their own input on how to power it, and were quickly assuaged, told that the solution was already in the works. You greeted the dogs as they each entered, nearly avoided the gaping maw of Tooth as they ordered their pizza again, laughed as the eternally buzzed bunny requested their 15th drink. 

You finally got a lull in orders, everyone seated and happily eating food, and took your designated seat at the bar, a stool away from the Jute Box. A lively bit of jive was playing, and a few of the tables had been pushed more to the side to make room for a little dancing. Zait was exuberantly showing a dog with too many legs the steps to a basic swing dance, and Grillby seemed unable to contain his mirth at the dog’s humming excitement as it messed up every move. You laughed as well, leaning forward on the counter and grabbing your tea, some type that’s name escaped you; you vaguely remembered it had the word Island in it, though. Was it long? Whatever. Zait had requested one for herself, and one for you, and when Grillby had protested, Zait had begrudgingly asked for yours to be a virgin?

Whatever, it was really tasty! And as the night wore on, and your face got hotter, you couldn’t help but drink more of it. 

“I’m just waiting for the day she teaches a Whimsum the Jitterbug.” 

“Sans, do you ever use doors?” 

“Nope. I might have even forgotten how to.” 

“You might want to work on that,” you leaned toward him, poking his arm. 

“Nah.” He chuckled, shifting in his seat a bit to get more comfortable. He glanced at your drink, “What’cha got there, kid?” 

“I’m probably at least 10 times your age.” 

“Noted. Still. Drink?” 

“Uhh... It’s tea, I think.” You glanced down at the golden brown drink, ice clinking together as you lifted it up and took a sip. “It’s sweet. I like it.” 

“Does Grillby know you’re drinking that?” 

“Yeah. Zait ordered it. Apparently it’s a virgin?” you giggled, taking another sip. A virgin drink. How was that even possible? And Zait ordered hers “Extra wet!” Haha! It was already liquid, how could it be more wet than that?

“... Did Zait trade her drink with you?” 

“Yessss!” You giggled, taking another sip. “She said that Grillby gave me the wrong one!” 

“That’s hilarious. Also. Zait is a horrible friend, you shouldn’t trust her.” 

“Why shouldn’t she trust me?” Zait asked, flopping into the chair next to Sans with a loud sigh and a smile. 

“You know why.” Sans nudged Zait and motioned toward your flushed face. You giggled. 

“Oh come on, she’s only buzzed. There’s no harm done! It’s just an experiment! Last time she drank, she confessed her love to Grillby. Maybe this time she’ll realize she loves dancing or something!” 

“Do you even realize how evil you are?” Sans questioned, looking over at you. You stared at him and Zait, starting to put two and two together. That explains the giggles at least. You should probably get up to terms with the drinking lingo. But... You were actually pretty happy right now. You felt a little warm, and your fingers and toes tingled a little bit. You weren’t dizzy, and you still had your head about you. This wasn’t so bad!

“The evillest. Don’t worry, that’s the only one I’m giving her. I just wanted her to be able to enjoy a buzz without Grillby getting in the way.” 

“Hn?” Grillby stepped over to the three of you now that Endogeny had finally settled back near the dog table. Zait chuckled. 

“Speak of the devil, and he shall appear!” She rolled her eyes, getting a chuckle from Sans. Grillby frowned at them for a moment before glancing over at you, surveying your flushed face. It only took a few moments for him to put the pieces together, and suddenly your tea was no longer in front of you, instead replaced with a glass of water.

You pouted, but drank the water anyway. You heard a little shout, and looked off to the corner, where Tooth was waving you down and pointing to the table, where they had placed a few gold coins next to their empty glass. You gave them a thumbs up, and they stood, preparing to leave. 

Grillby, once assured you were drinking the water, turned toward Zait with a thunderous glare. She only grinned wider, shrugging. Grillby lifted a finger, pointing at her, moving closer. As Zait retreated with fear in her eyes, Grillby was called away. 

Both Zait and Grillby sighed, which made you giggle. As Grillby walked away, Zait turned to you with a slightly nervous face. 

“Is he gonna murder me? I need to know so I can dip out if he is.” 

“I don’t think so?” You shrugged, “I’ll tell him I’m okay when he comes back. I’m actually enjoying myself quite a bi-” 

The door slammed open, jolting you from your sentence. Your head shot toward the door, wondering if Undyne was making a grand entra-

It was a human. It was more than a human. It was multiple humans, all dressed in the same bulky clothing, these big yellow coats and pants with neon yellow stripes at the arms and waist and legs. Their hats looked like they were made of heavy plastic, and the one in the front had this large spigot looking thing in his hands, connected to a long tube leading outside. His other hand was poised over a handle connected to the spigot. 

He sneered, and you felt your spine drop to absolute zero as the human pointed the spigot at the closest monster. Tooth, who had just grabbed their bag from the table and had turned toward the door, stared straight down the spigot pointed in their direction. 

The handle was turned for only a moment, then turned back. You could tell that the blast of water that erupted from the spigot would have knocked Tooth through the benches if they didn’t dust immediately, popping like an overinflated balloon. 

Your breath caught in your throat. You heard the screams erupting already, but you couldn’t breath. 

Water. 

You watched, already lurching forward as the spigot pulled away from the falling dust, and instead pointed straight at what you already knew was the real target. 

The moment the spigot was pointed straight at Grillby, time slowed to a crawl. 

You felt your soul screeching as something pulled it from your chest. Everything else was so slow but this. Everything else paled in comparison to this. 

Like a tendril dislodging themselves from a corpse, the tether pulled itself from the floorboards. Like a shrouded spear of dark, it turned, pointing straight at Grillby. 

His own soul was ripped from his chest, and you could only think about how beautiful it was for a fraction of a second before the spear shot forward, piercing it through. 

And suddenly, like floodgates of blood, the hatred and malice you so easily forgot returned, wave after wave crashing into you. 

Grillby’s shouts of pain were muted behind the rushing sound of your blood. 

You couldn’t see him collapse through the red flooding your vision. 

All you could see was the three humans that 

T h r e a t e n e d y o u r h o m e

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY! SORRY! SORRY! 
> 
> Love ya'all. I promise it wont take a year this time.

**Author's Note:**

> *coughs lightly*  
> http://grillky.tumblr.com/
> 
> *coughs again*

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Silk Stained Red](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6612655) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)




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